Vortex
by InfinityStar
Summary: Eames and Logan team up to find a missing Goren, who finds himself out of time and place with no idea where he really belongs. This is a collaborative effort with TriStateCopFan.
1. Gone

**A/N: This story is being written in collaboration with TriStateCopFan. It's an idea that I've been developing for the last year, and she has been kind enough to agree to help me make a good story even better. We hope you enjoy it! **

* * *

_The city never sleeps._ That was the first thought that entered Bobby Goren's mind as he half-stumbled from the bar into the spring night, guiding before him a much drunker Mike Logan. Darkness never truly fell on the streets of New York, and he wondered if there had ever been a time that it had. Logan swayed as he looked up and down the street. "Where we goin' now?"

"Home, Mike."

"Home? But the night's still young. And we haven't picked up any girls yet."

"We're going home, Mike. You don't need to bring a girl home tonight."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you're not gonna last much past your front door, buddy."

Logan gave that some thought as they started down the street. "I guess you're right. Wouldn't want to waste a good date, huh?"

"Right."

"You stayin' at my place?"

"Not tonight. I'll just make sure you get home and then I'll go on to my place."

"I know my way home," Logan protested as he turned left at the corner.

Goren grabbed his arm, turned him around and steered him to the curb, checking for traffic and crossing the street in the other direction. "I know you do. Just humor me."

Logan snorted. "I do a lot of that, you know."

"Yeah, Mike," he answered with a smile. "I know."

Goren wasn't far off. Logan made it through the door to the couch, where he passed out. Goren grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the bedroom, and after sliding the pillow under Logan's head and covering him with the blanket, he left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

He headed for home. He'd had a lot to drink, but he was still able to function. It had been a long week for both him and Logan, and they'd chosen to unwind in the small pub near Logan's place. It had been easy to lose track of drinks and time, and he felt good. Since his mother died, and he'd recovered from the grief of losing her, he found something different inside himself. He noticed bluer skies and brighter days. He slept at night. Granted, his sleep was still troubled by nightmares, and more than one of those involved his mother and the issue of his paternity, but when the sun came up, he was better able to put his dreams behind him and face the day with optimism. Just the other day, Eames had made the comment that he smiled more readily and laughed more. Even his relationship with Ross had improved, although he still resented the man's unwillingness to let go of the preconceptions about him he had arrived with. Eames told him to give the captain time. He would have thought enough time had passed, but Eames had a point that the first year had been more than a little rocky. She also pointed out that he was only just now regaining his stride, getting back his equilibrium. Things would smooth over with Ross. They just needed time.

A noise in a nearby alley drew his attention from his thoughts, the sound of metal clinking against metal, then a match being struck. He saw the tiny blossom of light glow in the depths of the alley's shadows. He fought down his curiosity and kept walking. His instinct told him there was nothing going on in that alley he wanted to know about. He was no longer in narcotics, but it was the narcotics cop in him that was set on edge. He recognized the odor that drifted from the alley. Burning crystal meth...bad news. His best bet was to keep moving and hope they had not noticed him. "Hey, you!"

_No such luck._ He hesitated midstep, every nerve in his body screaming at him to keep moving. Too late. He was soon surrounded. Five to one. He had never liked those odds, and these guys were high on God only knew what. That made them even more dangerous. He held up his hands, struggling to keep steady. "Hey, guys, I'm not looking for any trouble."

"On a bit of a bender, eh?"

"Just out with a buddy, on my way home."

A short stocky man with a joint hanging from his lip moved his arm in a wide, encompassing motion. "You live around here?"

"A few blocks away." He looked at the faces surrounding him and a knot of apprehension settled in his gut. "Look, guys, I don't want any trouble. I just want to go home."

A hand reached out and smoothed the lapel of his jacket. "Nice suit."

"Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"You ain't no businessman."

"Does it matter what I am?"

To his right, another man snarled, "Yeah, it matters, cop."

He groaned to himself. "What makes you think I'm a cop?"

"I can smell cops."

"That must be a useful skill."

_Stupid! That was not the thing to say._ Funny that it was his partner's voice that sounded in his ears, his voice of reason. Careful to keep his hands in sight, he said, "I told you, I don't want any trouble."

From behind him, he heard the clink of a length of chain. _Oh, Goren, you are so screwed._ Never one to go for his weapon first, he continued trying to talk his way out of a rapidly worsening situation. "Look, guys, I don't give a damn what you're doing. You don't have a kid in that alley, so whatever. I just want to go home."

"I don't think so, man."

The chain rattled some more. They closed in on him and he went for his gun.

Twenty minutes later, five men ran down the street, leaving behind an unconscious, bleeding cop to die in the alley.

* * *

A light rain began to fall over the city that never slept. In the dark recesses of the alley where Goren lay injured, a breeze began to blow. Slowly gaining in strength and speed, the wind continued to whirl, rising from a soft whoosh into a roaring crescendo. A bright light flashed into the night and was gone, and the alley was empty. 


	2. A Disturbing Discovery

As she drove toward Manhattan from her home in Rockaway, Alex Eames reflected on what a beautiful spring morning it was. It had been a busy, happy weekend. Her youngest brother had become a father for the first time and she had another healthy little nephew. Sunday had been spent at her parents' house, holding the new baby, Nicholas, and playing with her other nieces and nephews, including Jacob, the baby she had carried and given birth to four-and-a -half years ago for her sister. She'd gotten home late last night and considered calling her partner to tell him about the newest addition to her ever-growing family, but decided against it. She wanted to see the smile in his eyes that always accompanied news from her family.

* * *

Out of long habit, her eyes perused the squad room as she entered, searching for Goren. He was nowhere in sight. _Hm, the only time I ever beat him here is when he crashes at Logan's,_ she reflected as she headed for the break room. He had been spending a lot of time with Logan since his mother died, and she decided that it was a good thing. Her greatest hope was that Goren would calm Logan down and Logan would draw him out of his shell. So far, that seemed to be exactly what was happening. She was thrilled to see a happier, more relaxed Bobby these days. His mother's death had hit him hard, as she knew it would, but once he emerged from the cloud of grief that had enveloped him for much longer than she'd liked, he was a very different man from the one he'd been the year before. The moody, irritable demeanor and unpredictable temper were gone. She still saw many mornings that he bore the aftereffects of a night of poor sleep, but it was no longer _every_ morning. The easy, teasing manner he'd had in the early years of their partnership had returned and as a result she, too, was more at ease. Things had never been better.

Returning to her desk with a cup of fresh coffee she had taken the liberty of making so that it was drinkable, she saw Logan stroll off the elevators, alone. She frowned. "Hey, Logan, did you lose my partner?"

"I didn't know it was my turn to keep an eye on him."

"Very funny. Have you seen him?"

"Ooh, coffee..."

"Touch it and lose a body part, my choice."

He snickered but withdrew his hand. "I haven't seen him since Friday night, which, I might add, is pretty much a blur from midnight on."

"Did he stay at your place?"

"Apparently not. I woke up on the couch. But I think he got me home. If I only made it to the couch, I'd never have grabbed a blanket and pillow."

"So why didn't he stay?"

"How should I know? I have never tried to figure him out...well, that's not quite true. I tried once but it gave me a headache so I quit that. Now I just accept him. Makes my life easier and my head doesn't hurt from it."

Eames laughed. "Welcome to my world, Mike."

She returned to her desk and dialed Goren's home number, hoping he just overslept, which happened, though rarely. No answer. So she tried his cell. Again, no answer. Maybe he was in the subway on his way in. Cellular reception down there was sketchy at best in places. She resolved to wait until he dragged himself in, determined to give him a hard time about it. But when the hands of the clock turned to nine, she was worried.

She approached Logan and Wheeler, who were discussing one last bit of paperwork that needed to be done to complete their latest case. "No way, Logan. I already did my share of the paperwork. This one's yours," Wheeler insisted as she tossed a folder back onto his desk.

"You tell him, Wheeler," Eames encouraged as she stopped behind him.

He turned his head to look up at her, letting his gaze drift toward her desk and the empty one butting against it. "He's not here yet?"

"No."

His brow creased in concern. Tossing the file back at Wheeler, he muttered, "Cover for us, Wheeler. Something's not right. Call me if Goren shows. C'mon, Eames."

Wheeler started to protest but he was already halfway to the elevators.

* * *

Eames pulled out her keys as they approached Goren's apartment, flipping through them to find the one she'd only had to use once before, during the week following his mother's funeral...the last time she had come to this apartment with worry settled like a cold, hard lump in the pit of her stomach.

She opened the door. Back then she had entered a dark, stale apartment, as oppressive as the mood that had enveloped Goren at the time. But with the lifting of his depression, his living space had also undergone a transformation, which she had helped to bring about. The small window over the kitchen sink was open to let in the spring air. The blinds were open, the apartment bright and clean. Several well-tended houseplants lent an air of life to the place. Nothing seemed amiss.

She went down the hall to the bedroom, stopping in the bathroom on her way back. Her brow was drawn into a dark frown when she returned to the living room. "Well?" Logan asked.

"The sink and shower are dry, no wet towel anywhere and I can't find the suit he wore Friday. No strong aftershave scent...he wasn't here this morning."

Logan ran a hand over his hair and looked around the room. "Uh...well...maybe he got lucky over the weekend...lost track of time. I, um...it's happened to me."

"We're not talking about you, Logan. This is Bobby and he's _late for work_."

Logan shrugged. "Alex, the guy hasn't had a date since his mom was diagnosed with cancer. Maybe he finally..." He left the sentence incomplete at the look on Eames' face. "Okay, maybe not..."

"He would call, Logan, as soon as he realized he was late. It's after 10." She shook her head. "I don't like this. Not at all." She rested a hand unconsciously on her stomach to try to settle the sick feeling that had made a home there. "Where did you guys go Friday night?"

"Shanahan's Pub."

"You said he made sure you got home."

"I'm pretty sure he did, yes."

"Would he have taken a cab home?"

"I doubt it. It's, like, twelve blocks. He probably walked."

"In the middle of the night?"

"You know Bobby. The streets have never scared him. He likes to walk at night."

"Idiot," she mumbled as she headed for the door, and he wasn't quite sure who she was referring to, him or Goren—or both of them. "Do you know which way he usually walks?"

"Yeah, I know the way he usually goes. Wait...you don't think...Alex? Hey, wait for me..."

He locked the door and pulled it closed behind him, hesitating to consider if he should remind her about the deadbolt. _Screw it..._ He hurried after her as she shoved open the door to the stairwell and started down to the street.

* * *

Logan walked beside her in silence. He'd tried talking to her but two warnings and a solid punch to the shoulder convinced him that he should let her concentrate on looking. He was still leaning toward the idea that his missing buddy had found himself a distraction, but Eames didn't want to hear that theory.

He watched her as she checked alley after alley on the way from Goren's apartment to his. He tried to tell her she was being unnecessarily paranoid, but one threatening glare convinced him he'd better shut up and help her look for...whatever. Somehow he doubted that Ross would frown upon her pistol-whipping him.

The alley was strewn with garbage and drug paraphernalia and still held the lingering burnt odor of crystal meth and pot. "All right, Eames. This has gone far enough. Do you know how many more of these God-forsaken alleys there are between here and..."

He trailed off when she dropped to a knee near an overturned garbage can, studying some of the garbage that littered the ground around it. "This is blood, Logan."

He looked around again. "There's a shock."

Something else caught her eye. "Give me your pen."

"My pen?"

"Now dammit!"

He withdrew a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Eames snatched it from him and used it to move some of the garbage out of the way. Her heart sank and she looked at Logan. Dirty and smeared with blood, her partner's gold shield lay in the mud and garbage of an alley similar to those he'd frequented during his days with Narcotics. In his succinct manner, Logan neatly summed up what they were both feeling with two words: "Oh, fuck."


	3. Field of Butterflies

Butterflies... There were lots of butterflies in the field behind the barn today. She ran into the field, face turned to the sky to watch her quarry, and she ran and ran...until she tripped, and landed on something too soft to be a rock. She caught her breath in a little gasp as she backed away from the body of a man, laying face down in the grass. He was covered in blood and he let out a soft groan, moved a little and was still again. She stared for another minute before mustering the courage to turn and run. "Momma! Cousin Sarah! Harry!"

Alone once more in the field, with only the butterflies and bees for company, he tried to move again, issued forth another soft groan and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Annie Mae Cahill looked out the window when she heard her daughter shouting. Drying her hands on a towel, she hurried out onto the porch as the little girl got to the steps. "Momma! Momma!"

"What is it, Abbie?"

"Momma, I found somebody in my butterfly field behind the barn! He's hurt!"

"Go find your brother, sweetheart. I think he's in the barn." As Abbie ran toward the barn, her mother returned to the door and called into the house, "Sarah!"

After a moment, her husband's cousin came into the kitchen. "What is it, Annie?"

"Abbie says she found someone injured in the field behind the barn."

"Where's Harry?"

"I sent her to find him."

"Let's go see who she found, then."

The two women headed quickly from the house. As they passed the barn, the two children came out into the sunny yard. "Momma?" Harry called, pushing his sleeves up from forearms that were beginning to show muscular tone. He had his father's dark hair and eyes and his mother's kind heart.

"Come with us, Harry. You, too, Abbie. Show us where he is."

The little girl ran ahead of them, blonde hair flying off her shoulders, blue eyes dark with concern for a person she did not even know. The women increased their pace as Harry hurried to catch up to his little sister. Arriving just behind the children at the place where the man lay injured, Annie Mae and Sarah dropped to the ground on either side of him, taking an accounting of his injuries. Sarah was the first to speak. "We need to get him to the house. Give us a hand, Harry, and then you have to ride into town and get Dr. Newton."

The boy nodded. At the age of twelve, he was the man of the family, since his father was off fighting in the War. They hadn't heard from him in more than six months, though, and he knew his mother grieved over his absence. He had no idea how to reassure her, so he did everything he could to make life on their cousin's small farm a good one for the women. But he was a boy, filling a man's shoes. After Cousin Sarah's husband, Martin, died following a fall from a horse two years ago, right after the beginning of the War, they came to live with her. It had been a good move. Virginia wasn't as safe as New York. Even so, they kept to themselves as much as possible, minding their own business and avoiding any talk of the War, even among themselves. Abbie had long since stopped asking for Daddy, and that made him sad. Even though she was just seven, she carried within her the sorrow of a much older person. Now, though, the boy studied the injured man and he knew they could not leave him here. He didn't wear the uniform of either army, and they had no way of knowing how he'd been injured, but regardless of what was happening in the world around them, this man needed their help.

His eyes shifted to his sister, who had dropped to her knees near the man's head. Reaching out a small hand, she touched the damp curls at his temple, tracing fingers gently along his hairline. Withdrawing her hand, she looked at the blood on her fingers and released a soft sob, the only indication to any of them that she had been crying at all.

His mother's voice drew him from his reflections. "Harry, go to the barn and get Thunder. We need to put together a stretcher to get him up to the house without hurting him more."

Harry nodded. "I think we got what we need for that, Momma. Come help me, Abbie. You can ride Thunder back."

He held out his hand to his sister, gently wiping the blood from her fingers with his shirt, and they hurried back toward the barn. Sarah looked at Annie Mae. "He's been here at least since last night, Annie. Most of his bleeding has stopped. Look how pale he is." As she talked, she examined a nasty wound on the side of his head. "It looks like he was beaten with something. Bringing him home will be a risk. We have no idea what happened, what kind of man he is..."

"It's your home, Sarah."

"But Abbie and Harry are your children."

"What choice do we have, cousin? He'll die if we don't help him."

"One less Yankee to shoot at your Hank."

Annie Mae smiled sadly. "He doesn't wear a Yankee uniform..."

"Or a Reb one. He could be a prisoner, escaped from jail."

"Or a poor, hapless soul, robbed and beaten..." She sighed. "Whatever he is, Sarah, he is injured and he needs our help. We cannot turn our backs on a soul in need."

Sarah nodded, knowing all along that would have been her cousin's response. Fear had never had a place in Annie Mae's character, or her own, even in these trying times. And it was not in either of them to turn away someone who needed them. She looked up as the children returned with the horse and they set about rigging up something that would help them get this man to the house without further injuring or killing him.

* * *

It took over an hour for them to carefully turn the man over onto several wide strips of cloth which they then secured to two lengths of wood. When they were satisfied with the sling, they attached it to the harness Harry had put on the gentle bay gelding. With Harry leading the horse slowly toward the house, the women walked on either side of the makeshift stretcher while Abbie watched from her perch on Thunder's back.

It took almost as long to get the unconscious man to the house, into the back bedroom and onto the bed as it had to ready him for the move. While Sarah boiled water and tore a bedsheet into long strips to use as bandages, Harry quickly took the harness off Thunder, replacing it with a saddle, and he rode off to get the doctor from town.

Abbie brought the strips of fabric into the bedroom, where her mother was settling a blanket over the man to his waist; his bare chest was bruised and bloodied. Sarah was right behind her with the water and some larger strips of fabric. Gently, the two women worked to clean the blood and dirt from the injured man's wounds as they waited for the doctor to arrive.

* * *

Doctor Newton stepped into the parlor where the women and two children waited for him. "He took quite a beating," he observed. "But I think he'll recover. You ladies did a thorough job of cleaning his wounds. He took a bad hit to the head, though, so watch him. I'll come back to check on him tomorrow. If something happens to worry you in the meantime, send Harry to get me. Do you ladies have any whiskey in the house?"

Sarah nodded. "I still have a few bottles that were Martin's."

"If he wakes, try to get some broth into him and give him the whiskey for pain. I gave him a dose of morphine, and he's resting comfortably right now. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Dr. Newton."

Annie Mae saw the doctor to the door. Sarah went into the kitchen, pulled a whiskey bottle from an upper cupboard along with a glass and returned to the parlor as Annie Mae came into the room from the front door. "Where is Abbie?" Annie asked.

"I don't know. She was on the sofa when I went into the kitchen."

They headed to the back bedroom, where they found the little girl, kneeling on the bed beside their injured guest. In silence, they watched her take a cloth and set it into the washbowl of water on the nightstand. Squeezing it out as best she could, she dribbled water from the washbowl along his chest to his face, where she smoothed it over his forehead as she had seen her mother and Sarah do. The women looked at each other and smiled, entering the room. Sarah set the whiskey bottle and the glass on the dresser while Annie Mae gathered her little daughter into her arms.

"Is he gonna wake up, Momma?"

"I hope so, Abbie. Dr. Newton seems to think he will. We'll just have to wait and see."

"Can I help you take care of him?"

"Of course you can. But right now, you need to wash up for supper. Go to the barn and ask Harry to help you work the pump."

"Yes, Momma."

She set Abbie down and watched her run from the room. Sarah folded the bloody clothes Annie Mae had removed from him, running her fingers over the cloth. "Odd cloth. Like cotton, but not. He must be well-to-do. I don't think I have ever seen cloth like this."

"I was thinking the same thing."

Sarah sighed. "Let's let him rest, Annie. That's the best thing for him right now."

Annie knew she was right. She headed out of the room, followed by Sarah, who paused to study the stranger's features before pulling the door shut, leaving him to sleep in the dark silence and, hopefully, recover.


	4. What Now?

When they got back to the squad room, Ross was looking for them. "Eames, where the hell were you and where is your partner?"

She glanced at Logan, who shrugged helplessly. He wasn't any more popular with Ross than Goren was. Ross followed her gaze and his eyes narrowed at Logan. "My office. Both of you." His eyes shifted toward Wheeler. "Are you involved in this?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea what's going on."

With a curt nod, he turned and headed toward his office. Eames cringed and Logan groaned when the office door slammed. "What's going on?" Ross demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument; he wanted answers.

"Goren hasn't come in yet," Eames explained. "I was concerned."

"Because he's late? The world will not stop revolving because Goren is late, Eames."

Swallowing a surge of anger, and mollified by Logan's presence at her side, Eames drew in a deep breath and held up the evidence bag containing her partner's bloody badge. "Something is wrong, captain. We found this in an alley not far from his apartment. He wasn't home last night."

Ross studied her with an odd expression on his face. "And how do you know he wasn't home?"

"She's a detective," Logan snapped, irritated at the tone Ross was using with her. "She can figure things out."

Ross favored him with a glare that delivered a warning he received loud and clear. If he was going to be any help to Eames at all, he knew enough not to piss off the captain any more than he already was. With Goren gone, there was no limelight to share. He was target number one and it was open season. Ross turned his glare back to Eames. "Well?"

"There was no evidence he'd showered this morning or shaved or anything else. No coffee was made, and his plants were dry. There was no sign of the suit he wore Friday. He wasn't home all weekend."

Ross sighed, searching for patience. Ever since Goren lost his mother, Eames had been extremely protective of him, even moreso than she had been before. "Did it occur to you that he had someplace else to go this weekend? Maybe something came up Friday night. He's a big boy, Eames. He doesn't need permission for a sleepover."

"He was with me Friday night, captain," Logan growled. "Wanna make something of that?"

Before the conversation deteriorated any further, Eames stepped in. She was very used to this dance. "Even if he had gone someplace else, captain, explain this."

She indicated the bloody badge. Ross held out his hand and took the evidence bag from her, carefully examining the badge. "That ain't ketchup," Logan pointed out. "He left my place and headed home Friday night. He never made it."

Ross mulled over everything they'd told him. His eyes shifted back to Eames. "How do you remember what he was wearing Friday? I don't remember what I was wearing yesterday."

How could she explain that she always noticed his dark blue suit? It was her favorite. Further along that line of thought, how could she explain that she even _had_ a favorite suit of his without raising speculation that they were anything more than friends? She opted for a reasonable, yet true, explanation. "In certain ways, Goren is a creature of habit. Every Saturday morning, he takes his suits to the cleaners and he picks them up on his way home Monday or Tuesday. Call his cleaners if you want to verify it. There should have been five suits ready to go to the cleaners. There weren't; there were only four."

She looked at Logan, who gave her a nod of encouragement. He wasn't about to admit that he remembered the suit Goren was wearing Friday and open _that_ can of worms in Ross' mind. The only reason he remembered was because of a certain woman who'd hit on his friend that night. She'd made a big deal out of how good he looked in that suit. Logan had spent the rest of the night trying to get an explanation from him for why he'd turned down her advances. The guy had more grace than he'd ever have—he never saw a woman turned down so gently that she failed to even realize he'd said no—and definitely more self-control. Hell, he'd have been all over her, but after his initial appreciation, Goren had not given her a second look. He said she wasn't his type. Logan told him she was every guy's type—she was willing! But Goren had simply laughed at him and told him to go for her if he wanted to. _Don't think I'm not considering it_, he'd retorted. But he decided to stick with his friend and continue drinking. Now he was berating himself for getting so smashed...he would have convinced Goren to stay at his place if he hadn't hit the couch and passed out. He'd been under the obviously mistaken assumption that Goren had been in a similar state and they were both going to crash at whichever apartment they made it to. The neighborhood between their respective apartments wasn't the best in the city, but nothing about the streets ever intimidated the former narcotics detective now partnered with Eames.

Ross didn't miss the silent interaction between his two detectives. It had always amazed him how Goren and Eames seemed to be able to carry on an entire conversation just by looking at one another. He sensed communication between these two now, though not at that depth. "Words, detectives," he warned. "I want to hear what you're thinking."

"No, you don't," Logan cautioned before his better sense told him to shut up.

Eames shot him a warning glare but it was too late. Already annoyed, that comment was enough to push Ross over the edge. Sometimes, the captain's anger was explosive. More often, however, and more dangerously, it was not. "I have two words for you, Logan," he said, his tone low and angry. "Staten Island."

That really made the detective angry, but since he had already gotten under Ross' skin, he kept his mouth shut and leaned back against the wall where Goren usually stood. That further reinforced her partner's absence in Eames' mind. She turned to Ross and looked him directly in the eye. "Do not preach to me, Captain, and do not presume to tell me what I know. I know my partner. Regardless of where he spent the weekend, he would not be late for work and not call. In nearly seven years he has never just not showed up for work. You may not be each other's favorite person, but Bobby loves his job. Never doubt that. Take a look at that badge and tell me everything is fine."

Ross looked at the badge in his hand as though ready to take her dare, but he didn't. His eyes shifted to Logan. "Did you and Wheeler wrap up that last case?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I will work with her for the time being; you work with Eames." He looked back at Eames and told her exactly what she was waiting to hear. "Find Goren."

* * *

Late that afternoon, a teenaged boy came into the squad room. One of the detectives stopped to talk to him, then pointed him toward Eames and Logan, who was working at Goren's desk. He crossed the short distance to stop near Eames' chair. They both looked at him. His hair was ragged and in need of a cut and his clothes were battered and torn. His red-rimmed eyes and tense but casual manner told their own story. "Can we help you?" Eames asked gently. 

His mouth turned up into a small, shy grin. "I dunno. That fella over there said I needed to talk to you. He said you know a guy named Goren."

Eames felt her heart skip a beat and she glanced at Logan, who leaned closer, interested. "Have you seen him?" she asked.

The boy shook his head and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wallet and set it on the corner of her desk. She recognized it without opening it and her stomach lurched sickeningly at the bloodstains on it. "How did you know to bring this here?"

He shrugged. "There's a cop ID in it. I just hadda ask where this place was. I kinda don' like all the cops around here, so can I go?"

"Everything that was in the wallet...?"

"Everythin' that was in there when I found it is still there. His driver's license, credit cards and all that. There wasn't no cash so don' accuse me a stealin' nothin'."

"Where did you find it?"

"Jus' layin' in the street. I didn' pay no attention to where I was. Can I go now?"

He looked nervously from Eames to Logan and back. Logan asked, "You lose the coin flip, kid?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah."

Logan smiled and looked at Eames, who nodded. Logan said, "You done a good thing, kiddo. Behave yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

He pulled out his wallet and handed the boy a twenty. "Get a decent meal, will ya? Go on."

They watched him run out the door and disappear into the stairwell. Eames looked at Logan. "Did you see his eyes?"

Logan grinned. "The only way he could force himself to come up here was probably by smoking a joint before he came. But that's all it was. He wasn't taking anything worse than pot, at least not today."

"Think he was being level?"

"Yeah, I do. And I'll bet he found the wallet not too far from where we found Bobby's badge."

"So where'd he go?"

Logan picked up the phone. "I'll call the hospitals on the east side. You call the west."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then she picked up the phone.


	5. Second Thoughts

The lantern atop the dresser cast a warm, golden glow around the room. Abbie sat at the foot of the bed, cross-legged, cradling her worn out baby doll. She had never seen a person sleep for so long or remain so still. Two days had passed without sound or stirring from the injured man. Abbie took every opportunity to spend time in the room, watching him. She was fascinated by the injured stranger. She would climb up onto the bed and sponge his forehead with a cool moist cloth while her mother or Sarah tended to his wounds. After dinner, she would sneak in to check on him before bed. She watched and waited for any sign of consciousness, but there were none.

Just before dinner, her mother attempted to coax him awake in order to feed him some broth, but he did not respond. Abbie didn't understand everything the doctor said, but she did understand that he was worried. When she heard him tell Sarah that the longer he remained unconscious, the greater chances were that he would never waken again, she felt a funny feeling of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. She had never even seen his eyes, but she was attached to him. She found him. She helped bring him home and nurse him. She felt responsible for him, even if her mother didn't think she was big enough to feel that way. Maybe things would be different if she'd gone chasing butterflies after breakfast instead of after lunch. She pulled her old doll closer and gently rocked her. "He'll be all right, Tessie," she whispered to the rag baby her father'd made for her second birthday. It was all she had of him to hold onto, until he came back from the War.

She missed her father. She missed his smile and his laugh, the way his hair always fell over his blue eyes and the way he would lift her and spin her in a circle before he hugged her. She missed the way he could always make her laugh. More than once her mother had said she'd become much too serious since he left. Harry could get her to laugh sometimes, but mostly she just didn't feel like laughing. Mostly, she was just waiting for the day her father would return, so she could be happy again.

She was six when he left. Now she was almost eight, and she struggled to hold tight to her memories of him. It made her heart sad to admit that the sound of his laughter was fading from her mind and the bright spark of happiness in his eyes was slipping from her memory.

Sliding from the bed, she silently left the room and headed for the kitchen, where her mother and Sarah were washing the dinner dishes and straightening the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and waited for them to finish talking.

"Do you really think it's good for her to be in there, Annie?" Sarah asked, concerned.

"I don't know for sure, but you know Abbie. She has her father's stubborn nature."

"And her mother's soft heart. Face it, cousin, we don't know the least thing about this man. He could be a deserter, or worse—a criminal...Suppose he's running from the law..."

Annie rolled her eyes and laughed. "Listen to yourself, Sarah. Every man we see is a scofflaw."

"But we _don't_ know anything about him. And look at his size! We'd never be able to overpower him if he got it in his head to do anything to us. Remember what happened to Effie Marshall last spring..."

"Effie Marshall has a more active imagination than you do. Half the town has doubts there even was a man in her house."

"Be that as it may, Annie Mae. All the stories can't be wrong. These are dangerous times and they give rise to desperate men, and we haven't the slightest clue about this man."

"And yet who was the first one to say we had to get him to the house and treat his injuries?"

Sarah's face colored. Her heart was every bit as soft as Annie's, even if she tried to present a more gruff exterior. She sighed and changed the subject. "We were talking about Abbie, who spends too much of her day sitting in there watching him."

"She's concerned. You know how Abbie is, always bringing home injured and homeless animals."

Sarah nodded, then huffed, "Well, this is definitely the biggest stray she's brought home yet,"

Annie laughed. "You have a point there." Turning, she saw her daughter standing in the doorway, watching them with wide eyes. "What's wrong, Abbie honey?"

"Do you think he could hurt us, Momma?"

"Of course not, darling. He won't be strong enough to do much of anything for awhile."

"But yesterday, the doctor said he may never wake up."

Annie sat in a chair and drew the little girl into her lap. "That's true, Abbie. He may not. But it's not because of anything you, or any of us, did or didn't do. He's hurt badly, and sometimes, all the care in the world can't make bad hurts better."

"He'll get better, Momma. I'll make sure of it."

She kissed her mother's cheek and scrambled from her lap, hurrying back to the stranger's room. He would wake up. He had to...

* * *

Sarah was usually up well before the sun, getting the stove fired up and ready to use for preparing breakfast. Her routine changed a little, though, as she added tending to their guest into her daily ritual. She wasn't certain having him here was the best idea, but she had never been able to tell Annie Mae or Abbie no about anything. Besides she knew exactly where Marty's rifle was and she was not afraid to use it.

Once the fire was steadily burning, she went to the back of the house as the stove heated to cooking temperature. Replacing the water on the bedside stand, she laid out fresh bandages. A soft groan from the bed drew her attention, and she never noticed the door opening and closing. He groaned again, and it seemed that a word was incorporated into his groan. Dipping a fresh cloth into the water basin, she ran it over his forehead and down each cheek. "Alex..." he groaned again, his breathing becoming ragged as his head turned from side to side.

A little blonde head popped up on the other side of the bed, and Sarah looked at her youngest cousin. "Who's Alex?"

"Someone he knows, I imagine. Maybe his brother or his friend. Maybe someone who'd been with him when he was attacked."

"Maybe we can find Alex for him."

"These are uncertain times, Abbie. That may not be possible."

He groaned again, head tossing restlessly and he tried to move, repeating the name Alex. Abbie climbed up onto the bed and soothed him with soft words spoken in the lilting drawl that belied her Southern roots. Another soft groan and he fell silent and still again. Sarah watched tiny fingers gently stroke his rough cheek. "Go wake your brother, Abbie. Tell him we need Dr. Newton."

Abbie slipped from the bed and hurried out the door. Sarah wiped his face again with the cool cloth. "Who are you?" she whispered.

* * *

Doctor Newton had come and gone. The man's restless stirrings were a good sign, he assured them. They just needed to watch him and wait. There was nothing more anyone could do.

The women went about their daily tasks, and Harry went down to the barn, where he tended to the livestock, such that it was: two horses, a cow, four dairy goats and a handful of chickens. He made his way around the kittens who scrambled around his feet. Fortunately there were more than enough mice to sustain the growing population of barn cats. He'd already checked the fields and the large garden back behind the house. He was always very careful when he chased the rabbits from the garden. The last thing he wanted was to traumatize his little sister any more than this damn war already had by taking their father away from them. He'd accidentally killed two of the pesky things, and that would be certain to disturb Abbie. So he quickly butchered them and brought the meat to Sarah for dinner. What Abbie didn't know would put food in her belly.

Back in the house, the stranger stirred again and let out another soft moan. Abbie's eyes watched intently for anything more than his soft groans of pain. He tossed restlessly, again calling for his friend or brother or whoever 'Alex' was. Her heart raced a bit as his eyelids fluttered. She raced from the room to find Sarah or her mother.

* * *

Darkness surrounded him like a warm and welcome cocoon. As the darkness faded and pain began biting into his awareness, he sought to return to the darkness, where there was no pain. Twice he'd succeeded. But now...now he continued to struggle toward consciousness, like seeking the surface of a dark lake that drew him down and sapped his strength. This wasn't much different from fleeing the nightmares that plagued him as he willed himself to waken. But what exactly he had nightmares about was a mystery to him. He just knew that they were there, lingering just below the surface of slumber, waiting to ambush him.

Layer by layer, thin veils of darkness peeled away, like the layers of an onion and he sensed rather than felt awareness returning to him. And with awareness came pain...and a single name broke through the darkness in which his past was mired..._Alex_...

Slowly, his eyes eased open and he looked around at the stark whitewashed walls of the bedroom. He tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth was dry. An arm slid gently beneath his head and helped him to sit up a little. A glass touched his lips and he drank the water that washed into his mouth. A soft voice cautioned, "Just a little now."

He had trouble forcing both his mind and his vision to focus. His mind remained lost in a dense fog, but slowly, his vision cleared. The soft voice belonged to a woman. He studied her through half-closed eyes. She was unfamiliar, of average height and build with dark hair gathered on top of her head. What struck him most about her, though, was not any measure of her appearance. It was her face. Soft lines were marred with creases that suggested she frowned too much and cried too often, and that touched his heart. He forced his eyes away from her as she turned toward the nightstand. There was a second person in the room, a child. With hair the color of spun gold and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky, she was a small child, beautiful in the pure and innocent way only a child could be. Kneeling beside him on the bed, she reached out without fear and gently touched his cheek. He smiled at her, and his weary eyes slowly closed. He felt himself slip back toward the comfortable darkness. He was still peripherally aware of movement and voices until he let go and finally let himself sleep.


	6. A Troubling Turn of Events

Logan sat at the conference room table, studying a list on the paper in his hand. He set it down and rubbed his eyes wearily as the door opened. Eames came into the room with several paper bags of Chinese take-out, which she set on the table beside him. "Did I ever tell you I love you?" he asked.

"No, and don't start now."

He laughed as she handed him a white carton. "The egg rolls are in this bag here."

"Thanks."

It was after nine and they were no closer to figuring out what had happened to Goren than they had been that morning when they found his badge in that alley. In silence, Logan ate while Eames forced down half a pint of fried rice as she studied the map of the blocks between Logan's apartment and Goren's. The alley where they'd found his badge was marked with a red tack. Another red tack was placed outside the alley, representing his wallet.

Logan looked at the short list of facts on the paper in front of him. No one they had spoken to had seen or heard from Goren since the week before. Eames had called Lewis and a couple of other people she knew Goren was friends with, and Lewis had also made a few calls. Nothing turned up. Logan had been the last person to see Goren before he vanished.

They'd called every hospital in town, but none of the men that came close to matching Goren's description turned out to be him. They were at an impasse, staring at a dead end that loomed before them. Undaunted, however, they continued to go over the evidence, hoping to find something they both knew was not there.

It was almost ten when Ross came into the room. "Anything?"

Eames shook her head. "Nothing."

Ross sighed heavily, and the look on his face told both detectives that he had something unpleasant to say. Logan braced himself, promising for Eames' sake he would not lose his temper. This was hard enough for her. He had never seen her this worried...not even after her partner had tumbled into a stubborn depression after his mother died. Ross said, "Where is Goren's badge and wallet?"

"We sent them to the lab so they could type the blood and compare it to what's on file for Bobby."

"Good. What did CSU turn up in that alley?"

"Drug residue, blood, a length of chain with blood on it that's also being tested. That's about it."

"I want to know what they find out about the blood and I want an analysis of the drug residue. I want to know what it is."

"Fine," Eames answered. "But why?"

Another sigh. His eyes traveled from Eames to Logan and back. "I got a call from the ballistics lab. There was a drug-related shooting over the weekend, and the preliminaries indicate that it was Goren's gun that was used in the shooting."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "So? His gun got lifted with his wallet when he was attacked."

"Good theory, Logan. Now prove it. Either way, we have evidence of drugs and now a drug-related shooting, and Goren is involved."

Logan bristled but it was Eames who spoke first. "No...there is no way he is involved."

Ross' eyes narrowed. "Face it, detective. As a victim or as a suspect, your partner is involved."

He turned and left the room. _As a victim or a suspect..._he was hoping for the former if Goren had to be involved, but his inclination was to lean toward the latter. He sat at his desk and looked over the report he'd gotten from ballistics, and the information he'd been able to get about the shooting. The formal report was on its way. A knot formed in his stomach. What on earth could have happened to involve him in _this_?

Logan stared at the closed door. "Suspect? Did he fucking say suspect?" He looked at Eames. "Tell me he's kidding."

Eames' face was a study in fury, and no words would form in her mind that could possibly do justice to how angry she felt at that moment. "Stay here," she finally said.

Logan watched her leave the room, mulling his options over in his mind. _Screw it_, he decided. If he let her anger do anything to jeopardize her career or her standing in MCS, Goren would kick his ass. They had come to an agreement not long after Bobby's mother died, before the big cop had turned the corner and snapped out of that gray funk Logan had hated seeing him in. Too many beers did nothing to improve a melancholy mood, and Logan had promised that he would take care of Eames if Goren ever proved unable to. Logan had no idea what had happened to his buddy, but this seemed to be one of those times, and he never went back on his word. He left the room and went after Eames.

Eames didn't even bother knocking or closing the door behind her as she entered Ross' office. The captain looked up, surprised, as she came into the room. "Yes, detective?"

"Suspect? Did you say _suspect_?"

"I did."

"How can you even think that? Captain, this is no street punk. This is my partner. I know this man. He is not capable of what you are suggesting."

She was only vaguely aware of a presence behind her and for a fleeting second she imagined it was Goren, lingering in the background the way he did, backing her up just by being there. Her anger kicked up a notch when the realization that it wasn't hit her. She gave Ross no chance to speak. "You have some nerve, Captain Ross, even thinking Goren could possibly be involved in any kind of illegal activity, but drugs? Have you even bothered to look at his personnel file? Twenty-seven convictions in twenty-seven arrests a narcotics detective. Those statistics speak for themselves. And the six-plus years he's been my partner? You came into this squad filled with preconceived notions and judgments about him, and quite frankly I'm sick of it." Her eyes narrowed. "I am not going to pursue him as a suspect. I'm going to find him and you are going to apologize for even entertaining the thought that he would stray from the law."

As she turned, Ross' sharp voice made her hesitate. "Eames!" When she stopped, he asked, "What kind of guarantee can you give me that your partner is clean?"

She turned, a dark frown on her face. For the first time, Logan spoke. "Clean? You mean drugs?"

"Yes. I mean drugs."

Eames shook her head. "Bobby is not on drugs."

"Think about it, Eames. After everything that happened in his life over the last year, and with a very strong family history of addiction and mental illness, it's not that big a stretch."

Eames looked Ross directly in the eye. "He got past all that. He hit the bottom and was on his way back up. I admit that sometimes alcohol helps him to cope, but drugs? No way. Logan?"

"I'm with her. I've spent a lot of time with him. He's not on drugs."

Ross threw a file onto the desk near her. She read the first few papers, then handed them to Logan. She shook her head. "That alley was smoking with drug residue. I can't guarantee I would be clean after being in it. The blood could have been contaminated after it was shed." Her eyes narrowed. "If Bobby's on drugs, I'll turn in my badge and become a nun. You're barking up the wrong tree."

She left the office. Logan dropped the file on the desk. "Some people jump to conclusions, Captain. You take blind flying leaps. This time you're going to fall flat on your face."

"Goren is not invincible."

"No. But he's tough as hell, and resilient. I admit his mother's death hit him hard, but it didn't hit him any harder than her life did. He stumbled a bit, because she was his mother, but the guy didn't fall. And he bounced back. He wouldn't take a sudden nosedive, not when things were looking up for him and he was feeling good about his life again. You should know what you're talking about before you start, captain. You don't know Goren."

Logan turned to leave, but Ross called him back. "I have ordered a search of his apartment by CSU. If you and Eames want to be there, fine. But don't interfere."

Logan frowned, angry. "You gonna tell them they're looking for drugs?"

"Not specifically, no. But if they find any..."

"They won't."

He left the office and returned to the conference room, where he found Eames pacing and muttering incoherently to herself. "Now he's got you talking to yourself."

"Is he for real?" she demanded, anger placing a tremor in her voice.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart, and you're _really_ not gonna like this next turn of events."

"Why? What happened?"

"He's got CSU searching Bobby's apartment."

"No. Tell me he doesn't."

Logan nodded. "He said we can be there, but he's warned us not to interfere."

She swore, slapped their scant files together and ran out of the room. He hurried after her.

Ross watched the two detectives leave and he once again marveled at the loyalty Eames had for her partner. Even Logan was sticking up for Goren, which he found telling. The man inspired loyalty in his friends. Strong loyalty. He looked down at the toxicology report in front of him. If he'd had the chance to place a bet, he would have bet with Eames and Logan, that Goren was clean. This blood matched his type, which in itself was not proof it was his blood, but it was on his badge and his wallet. If it wasn't his blood, he was close to the source of it, and that tossed up a red flag that screamed suspect. A number of scenarios worked their way through his head. The blood was not fresh, which supported Eames' and Logan's contention that something happened on his way home from Logan's Friday night. He could have been jumped by dealers or junkies in that neighborhood. He was not ruling out that possibility. But he had read Goren's file. The man knew the streets. He had a hard time buying this as a mugging. It was a much easier sell to classify this as a drug deal gone sour. Either way, the man had a lot of explaining to do—to all of them.


	7. A Stranger Even to Himself

The pain came first again, followed by the name from the fog of his past. He struggled to bring himself to full consciousness, but when he opened his eyes, there was no light. That didn't seem right to him. Somehow, he thought there should have been light somewhere. The total darkness seemed wrong, misplaced. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his chest forced him back onto soft pillows. As the pain subsided, he eased out his breath in a soft groan. His head was pounding and he sensed that the room was spinning, though he couldn't see anything to be certain. His eyes tried to penetrate the encumbering darkness. He could vaguely make out a shape across the room...a window. But he didn't have the strength to get up, and trying to see through the darkness made his head hurt worse. With another groan, he closed his eyes and returned once more to the pain-free solitude of unconsciousness.

* * *

Abbie finished her breakfast and her morning chores, then hurried down the hall to the back bedroom where the stranger still slept. She opened the door and slipped into the dim room. Every night, her mother opened the curtains to let in the night air. It was good for him, she insisted. Every morning, Sarah pulled the curtains closed, to keep out the sunlight, which was not good for him. She walked to the side of the bed, stopping dead in her tracks when he moved.

He shifted on the bed with a soft groan, then turned his head toward her. She gasped softly when she saw that his eyes were half-open. A soft smile spread across his face. "Hi," he whispered.

She smiled back. "Hi."

He turned onto his side and groaned again, closing his eyes for a moment until the pain eased. Then he looked once again at the pretty little girl. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice hoarse and quiet, but kind, like his dark eyes.

She stepped closer, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the scruff on his cheek. He closed his eyes and wondered what it was that was familiar about that touch. It took more effort to open them this time. In a soft little voice, she answered, "I'm Abbie."

"That's...a pretty name."

"What's your name?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. What _was_ his name? He struggled to find it in the foggy void that filled his mind where memories should be. Why couldn't he remember? His name...something fundamental to his being... After a brief struggle, it finally slid through. "Uh, Bobby...I'm Bobby."

She gave him a sweet smile and continued to gently stroke his cheek. In a quiet whisper, she said, "I'll be right back."

She disappeared through the door like a little rabbit. He smiled again. She looked familiar, though he had no idea why. He closed his eyes against the pounding in his head, which was worsened by the effort to remember his name.

He was roused by quiet voices. He heard the little girl's voice. The other two voices were vaguely familiar though he could not place them. He forced his eyes open again. The child jumped toward the bed with a ready smile. "Hi," she said, her voice quiet.

"Hi again," he answered, forcing a weak smile in reply to her obvious struggle to contain happy enthusiasm.

His eyes shifted toward movement in the shadows of the room, off to the side of the little girl. The woman who entered his line of vision looked familiar, though he could not place from where. His eyes followed her as she poured a pitcher of water into a basin on the nightstand beside the bed. He was struck by the careworn face, the sad eyes, the almost imperceptible droop to her shoulders. Some tragedy touched her young life, and she bore the weight of Atlas on her shoulders. Just watching her made him want to ease her burden, particularly after she found it inside her to give him a warm smile.

He returned her smile, reluctantly looking toward the source of the other voice, which came from somewhere near the door. He waited a moment for his vision to focus on her, another woman, blonde with gray eyes and a lighter bearing. "Abbie, don't get in the way."

"I'm not, Momma."

He could see the resemblance between the child and her mother. His attention was drawn back to the first woman, who smoothed a moist cloth across his forehead. When he looked back at her, she asked, "Do you think you could handle some broth?"

He took a quick mental survey of his stomach and gave her a brief nod, which sent his throbbing head spinning. He groaned softly and closed his eyes against the nauseating movement of the room. He heard the woman address the child's mother as Annie, asking her to prepare some broth. Annie bustled from the room. At the familiar touch of small fingers, he forced his eyes open and looked at Abbie. "My brother went to get the doctor," she informed him.

He moved his hand to lightly touch Abbie's fingers, which caressed his cheek. She gripped his hand, which he settled over the quilt that covered his abdomen. The woman continued to sponge the sweat from his face, and he found it soothing. His headache had begun to ease a little. His eyes shifted to her face when she spoke. "My name is Sarah Cahill."

"I'm...Bobby."

He searched for a surname but there was none. Her head tilted curiously. "Just Bobby?"

"Sorry...that's...that's all I can...remember."

She nodded understanding. "That's all right," she assured him. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

She watched his eyes as he searched through the fog, seeking a memory that just was not there. Slowly he shook his head. "I have no idea."

Abbie's hand tightened around his fingers. "Who's Alex?"

The familiarity of the name struck him, but no memories accompanied the strong sense that he should know the person associated with the name. "I...I don't know..."

Sensing his growing agitation and frustration, Sarah said quietly, "Enough questions, Abbie. He needs to rest."

Abbie nodded obediently and fell silent. Bobby studied her. "You can still...talk to me," he encouraged her, smiling weakly when her face lit up.

She released his hand and scrambled up onto the bed. He held out a hand to steady her, so she wouldn't fall. Gently settling securely on the bed, she leaned back against his side and took his hand, placing it in her lap and holding firmly onto it. "Dr. Newton said you took a bad beating. We think maybe you got robbed. You didn't have a wallet or any cash or anything."

"I suppose...it's possible." He turned the conversation away from himself with his next question. "How old are you, Abbie?"

"Seven. But I'll be eight in a couple of weeks."

"Big girl..."

"I try to be, but sometimes it's hard. I miss my daddy."

"Where is he?"

"Fighting in the war, of course."

"W-war?"

"Yes. He's with General Lee back in Virginia. But it's been a long time since Momma heard from him."

Sarah spoke up before he found a reply. "All right, Abbie. Enough. Go see how your mother is coming with the broth."

Abbie looked at Bobby, who released her hand and gently touched her cheek. With a smile, she slid from the bed and left the room. "If she troubled you..." Sarah began.

He shook his head briefly, frustrated by the continued dizziness that assaulted him every time he moved his head. "She's fine. I...I don't mind...talking to her."

"It's hard for her and her family, living here with Hank off fighting in the south."

He looked confused. "Uh, just...where is here?"

"You're in New York."

New York...that sounded...right. Somehow he knew intuitively that New York was where he was supposed to be. "S-So Abbie...isn't your daughter?"

"No. She and her brother came here with their mother when their father joined the Army of Northern Virginia two years ago. Annie Mae's husband Hank and my husband Marty are cousins. Their fathers were brothers."

"Family...is important," he muttered, not certain where the unsettled sense of bitterness deep inside came from.

"Especially these days."

"Your husband...is off fighting, too?"

He didn't think it possible for her eyes to hold more sorrow. "No. Marty died after a fall from a horse two years ago, just before Annie and the children came to live here. But if he hadn't died, he would have joined the Union Army. Brother against brother, cousin against cousin, father against son...It's just horrible."

She sponged more sweat from his face. Unexpectedly, he reached a hand up to touch her chin, running a light finger along her jawline. "I am sorry..." he said softly, with sincerity.

His touch was unexpected, as was the expression of sympathy and the warmth in his eyes. She laid a hand over his as she studied his face. Her attention was drawn from him by the sound of horses' hooves in the yard and he withdrew his hand as she said, "Harry must be back with the doctor. Abbie will let us know..."

As if in answer to her comment, Abbie came through the door. "Harry's back with Dr. Newton," she announced.

Sarah laughed, looking at Bobby, who watched the happy child with an amused smile. She bounced over to the bed and grabbed his hand again as her mother came into the room with a bowl of broth, followed by a young boy and an older man carrying a black bag.

Annie Mae set the bowl on the dresser and the boy stood off in the corner. "Come here, Abbie," he said quietly.

Abbie smiled at Bobby before releasing his hand and trotting over to her brother, who kept her out of the way. The doctor's face was tired but kind. "How do you feel, son?"

Bobby gave it some thought. "I hurt all over, and every time I move my head, the room spins."

"Any sickness to you stomach?"

"Yes...and a bad headache."

"Let me start by listening to your heart.."

He pulled out his stethoscope and began his examination. By the time he was done, Bobby was unconscious again. Leaving Abbie in the room to call them when he woke, the two women and Harry left the room with the doctor.

"What do we owe you, Dr. Newton?" Sarah asked as he sat at the table and Annie placed a mug of hot coffee in front of him.

"Did I see that several of your hens had babies?"

"Yes, they did."

"Then just give me a chicken and we'll be even."

Harry asked, "For eatin' or for layin', Doc?"

"For laying, Harry."

"I'll be right back."

Sarah and Annie sat down with the doctor. "How is he?" Sarah asked.

The doctor sighed. "I think he's going to be all right."

"Is it normal that he cannot remember anything?"

He nodded. "He had a serious head injury. I am not surprised he cannot remember things. As time passes, he may regain his memory. Just give him time to heal. I don't think you'll need me any more, but if something happens that concerns you, send Harry for me."

"Thank you, Dr. Newton."

As he headed for the door, he said, "Start with broth for a day or so, and if his stomach can tolerate that, move up to potatoes and gravy before you start him back on a full diet. Just give him what his system can handle. By this time next week, he should be back to normal. His ribs will hurt; just keep them bound with cloth until the pain is gone. His headaches will linger, but that's part of the healing process. Give him whiskey for the pain. If that's not strong enough, send Harry to me and I'll give you something else, but I don't think that will be necessary. Thank you for the coffee, ladies."

Harry met them on the porch. "I tied her and put her in the back of your buggy, Doc."

The doctor ruffled the boy's hair. "You're quite a man, Harry. Thank you. Say good-bye to Abbie for me."

They watched the doctor leave and returned to the kitchen. Annie retrieved the broth and poured it into the pot that simmered on the stove. "He's still sleeping. When he wakes, we'll try the broth. He hasn't eaten in a few days; he'll be hungry. Abbie will let us know when he wakes. She's content to sit in there and look at a book while he sleeps."

Harry was frowning. "I'm not sure I like that, Momma."

"Why not?"

"We don't know anything about him...who he is...what he's done..."

"He doesn't even know that, Harry," Sarah said. "But he seems to be developing a genuine fondness for Abbie, and he's gentle. He has a kind face. I got no bad feeling from talking to him."

Harry knew that Sarah was an excellent judge of character, but he was still cautious. "Suppose he just doesn't remember that he's a bad person?"

Sarah and Annie both laughed. Sarah answered, "Good or bad isn't a choice, Harry. It's who you are deep inside. Sometimes good people make bad choices, but they can't change the kind of person they are deep inside. It's a lot easier for a good person to fake at being bad than it is for a bad person to fake at being good. But he's been badly hurt. He's not faking anything."

Harry's frown did not subside. "It's your decision, cousin," he said unhappily. "But if he hurts anyone, I'll shoot him. I swear I will."

He pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and left the house. Annie got up from the table and went to the window, watching him kick at rocks as he crossed the yard toward the barn.

Sarah joined her. "He's become so serious."

"He has taken to heart the job his father left to him. He's had to grow up so fast under the weight of being man of the house."

"You should be proud of him...of them both, Annie."

Annie smiled at Sarah. "I am. Is Harry heading out to the field today?"

"Yes. He said he was going to finish the planting. I'll go out and help him."

"No. You stay here with Abbie and take care of our guest. I'll help Harry. I need to talk to him."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Someone needs to stay here. I'll get my hat and gloves."

Annie left the kitchen. Sarah sighed. It wasn't a large field to be planted, just enough to feed the livestock with some left over to sell. There were farmers who planted fields much larger, but this one was about all they could handle. Marty had managed it on his own for years, and now Harry was managing it well for a boy of twelve, with only occasional help from her and Annie. Annie was right that someone needed to stay to keep an eye on the injured man. Abbie should not be left alone in the house with him unless they knew he was trustworthy, and right now all they knew about him was his first name. After talking to him, seeing into his eyes and watching him interact so gently with Abbie, her initial reservations were gone. This was no criminal they had taken into their home. She set about cleaning the kitchen as she waited for him to waken.

* * *

He did not waken again until just after lunch. After finishing her soup, Abbie did her chores and returned to the bedroom, to continue her vigil. While she waited, she worked on her lessons, even though school was out for the planting season. Harry wasn't as interested in learning, but he had a lot of responsibility around the small farm. He took care of the animals, and she helped him with that. She loved feeding them. Thunder, in particular, was always happy to see her come into the barn, nickering to her and waiting for the sugar cube or carrot she always brought him as a treat. When he wasn't taking care of the animals, Harry was out in the fields or working around the house to repair things. He had even helped Josiah Tucker patch the leaky part of the barn roof. Reading and writing took a back seat to being the only man on the farm. But she had the luxury of being able to continue with her learning. Momma and Sarah helped her when they had time, but mostly she sat and read or did her sums by herself. Right now she was happy to have an important job to do by keeping an eye on their injured guest. She liked him. He had a nice smile and a gentle touch. Not like Simon Weatherby back in Virginia. He was a mean man. She'd seen him kick his dog, and when she'd scolded him for it, he'd kicked her. Daddy hadn't liked that at all. She didn't know what he did to old Simon, but when she came home crying and told him what had happened, his face got purple-mad and he left. The next time she saw old Simon, he had a leg in a cast so he wasn't able to kick his dog, or anyone else, for a long time.

She was sitting in her rocker, which Harry'd brought into the room so she didn't have to sit on the bed, by the window when she heard him groan. Setting her book aside, she walked over to the bed. He started to breathe harder, tossing and turning like he was having a nightmare. Afraid he was going to hurt himself, she ran out of the room to get Sarah, who was in the kitchen cleaning up after lunch. Momma had gone back out to the planting field with Harry.

Sarah hurried after the little girl into the bedroom. He was sitting up, holding his head and breathing hard. Not knowing if he was awake or asleep, Sarah approached him cautiously. "Bobby?"

His breathing was easing as she touched his shoulder tentatively. Slowly he turned his head to look at her. His eyes were bright with pain and he pressed one hand firmly against his temple. She gently coaxed him to lay back and offered him a drink of water, which he accepted. "Let's get some broth into you before I give you any whiskey for that pain, all right?"

He barely inclined his head in agreement. Sarah looked down at Abbie. "Stay with him, Abbie. I'll be right back."

"Yes, Sarah."

He watched her step up to his side and look at him with worried blue eyes. He slid a thumb lightly down her cheek. "I..I'm sorry...if I frightened you, Abbie."

"I thought you'd hurt yourself."

He shifted over a little on the bed. "Sit down," he said softly.

She climbed onto the bed and sat beside him, resting her hand gently over the cloth bindings that wrapped his injured ribs. "You really don't know who hurt you?"

"No...I don't."

"Do you know where you're from?"

Again he searched his mind for missing memories. This time, one came forth. "I...grew up in New York...in Brooklyn."

"Really? You live there now?"

"Not in Brooklyn. I, uh, I live in Manhattan."

He was relieved that something had come back to him, but he was still deeply troubled that he could not remember his full name, or much of his past, or the person belonging to the name Alex that he called out for in his delirium. Her small hand rubbed his skin just below the bindings. "What do you do in New York?"

Another struggle...but nothing would come. "I'm not sure..."

He closed his eyes against the pounding in his skull. He didn't even feel Abbie move, but she scrambled lightly to the head of the bed and squeezed out the wet cloth. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and began to roll into his hair. Gently, she swiped the cloth over his forehead and face. Forcing his eyes open, he gave her a small smile. It was all he could muster. "You'll get better," she promised with the pure, untarnished faith of a child.

The door opened and Sarah returned with a bowl of broth. She set it down and moved a chair closer to the bed. "Let's try to get this into you, all right?"

"I'll try," he answered.

It took some encouragement from both the woman and the child, but he managed to finish the bowl. The effort sapped what strength he'd had, though. Sarah brought him a glass half-filled with whiskey. "This will help with your pain," she promised, helping him up onto an elbow.

The whiskey burned, but he didn't care. It was barely a discomfort compared to the throbbing pain everywhere else in his body. He finished the glass and dropped back onto the pillows, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread from his stomach to the rest of his body. Sarah watched him relax as the pain began to ease under the whiskey's effects. The room slowly steadied and he drifted off to sleep.

"Did he pass out again, Sarah?" Abbie asked, concerned.

"No, Abbie. He's sleeping now. He needs to rest. Why don't you come help me in the kitchen for a little while while he sleeps?"

"All right. He'll be okay?"

"Yes. He'll be fine."

Sarah closed the door behind her and they left him calm and quiet in the arms of a healing sleep.


	8. A Fatal Complication in Jersey

Eames and Logan got out of the car at Goren's apartment building. The CSU van was already there. Eames had called them to let them know she was on her way to let them in, and they were waiting for her in the hallway. "Hello, detective," the lead tech smiled at her.

"Hi, Kenny."

He looked puzzled. "Why are we searching Goren's apartment?"

She pulled out her keys and searched for the right one, to give herself time to compose her emotions and her response. "Because he's gone missing. We're hoping you guys can turn up some clue to what happened to him."

He studied her for a moment. "Is that why we were combing that alley earlier?"

She nodded. "We found his shield in the alley, covered with blood."

"Damn...Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because we didn't want you going in with any preconceived notions, Kenny. We had to know exactly what was in that alley. Now we need to know whatever you turn up here."

"You think he's in trouble."

It wasn't a question. She felt more shaken by his assertion than she had allowed herself to feel all day, and she couldn't bring herself to speak, so she nodded. Logan touched her elbow and leaned closer. "It'll be all right, Alex. We'll find him."

She watched the techs file into the neat apartment before she looked at Logan. "And what if we don't, Mike?"

The corner of his mouth turned up a bit and he said, "That's not an option."

A soft smile flitted across her face. How often had Goren told her that when they'd had a difficult case, one she questioned their ability to solve? He never took defeat gracefully, so for him it was never an option. Of course, that made it all the more difficult when things went wrong, but they managed to get past their few failures. That never meant he accepted them well, but they got past them.

Eames and Logan watched the crime scene techs search the apartment with care. For all his eccentricities, they liked Goren, and they respected his skill as an investigator. He was observant and thorough, but most of all, he thought outside the box and noticed things even seasoned techs passed by.

Two hours into the search, Eames' phone rang. She groaned at the sight of the captain's name on her caller ID and toyed with the idea of ignoring it, until Logan said, "You have to take it, Alex."

With a heavy sigh, she flipped open the phone. "Eames."

"Have they found anything?"

"No, Captain, they haven't."

"Does Goren have any ties to Jersey?"

"What kind of ties?"

"Any kind."

"Not that I know."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do, Eames. There was another shooting this morning, another drug deal gone bad, and ballistics returned another match to his weapon. This time, the victim died with your partner's bullet in his heart."

Eames counted to ten. Noticing the sudden tension in her bearing, Logan brought his hand to rest on her back, between her shoulders. She couldn't keep the accusation from her tone. "So have you put out an APB on him?"

"Not yet. Tell the CSU techs we have a warrant to look for drugs. I'm no longer treating this as a missing person case, Eames. First thing in the morning, you and Logan head across the river and talk to the Hudson County DA. Find out what he has on Goren. If he can be placed at the scene, then it's out of our hands."

Eames trembled with rage and looked at Logan as she closed the phone. "He's on the verge of going after Bobby. There was another shooting with his weapon, a fatality. If they can place Bobby at the scene, Ross is washing his hands of him and leaving him to the wolves. He's writing him off as a cop gone bad." She took an uneven breath, still shaking with poorly contained fury. "And he got a warrant, Mike."

"For this place?"

"Yes. For drugs."

"If Bobby's involved in this, I'll give up my pension," he grumbled.

"You know he's not as well as I do. But how can we prove it?"

Logan sighed. "We hit the streets, sweetheart. We find the gun and the son of a bitch who has it, and we beat a fucking confession out of him."

"Except for the beating part, it sounds like a plan to me." She found Kenny and asked, "Have you found anything, Kenny?"

"Not a thing."

She braced herself to deliver the next words she had to say. "Ross has a warrant now, Ken. He wants you guys to look for drugs."

Kenny gave her a look of disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"Goren? Mixed up with drugs?"

She shook her head slowly. "Just look, and let Logan and me know what you find."

The search of Goren's apartment turned up exactly what Eames and Logan knew it would: nothing. With a powerful feeling of vindication, she called Ross. "Goren's place is clean, except for some aspirin and cold medicine in his medicine cabinet and an open bottle of scotch in the kitchen."

"Your partner is smart, Eames. I never expected this to be easy."

"Captain, you're wrong."

"Then prove me wrong. I'll welcome it. Report to me after you talk to the DA. You're a good, honest cop, and I know Goren is your partner. But if this turns out differently than you expect..."

"If he's involved, I'll arrest him myself."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

"I said 'if', captain. That doesn't mean I think he is."

"Keep an open mind, detective."

"Only if you do the same."

"Good night, Eames."

She closed the phone and looked at Logan. "He challenged us to prove him wrong...and he wants us to keep an open mind."

"Oh? Like the bear trap he's closed on Goren's guilt?"

"Pretty much."

Logan shook his head. "Forget him, Alex. Look, it's late. Why don't you crash at my place and we can get an early start, before the DA has his first case in the morning?"

Too tired to think any more, she just nodded. Her gut churned with worry. She knew deep down that something was very wrong. Where could Goren be?


	9. First Steps Toward Recovery

He woke with a start from a troubled dream. As his eyes flickered open, he heard the sound of a match head scraping on wood, and a small flame burst to life on the other side of the room. Moments later, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the woman named Sarah, casting its light about the room to chase the darkness into the corners, along with the remnants of his nightmare.

She approached the bed and smiled when she saw his eyes. It was a genuine, if haunted, smile. "Well, hello."

"Hi," he replied, his voice still hoarse. His eyes searched the room. "Abbie?"

"It's late. She's in bed." She studied him. "Are you hungry?"

He took a mental accounting of his body, struggling to push aside the pain, and he nodded. He could stand to eat something, since his stomach was no longer churning. She sat lightly on the edge of the bed. "Think maybe you can get up?"

He gave that some thought as well. "I...I can try."

"I will help you."

He studied her. "Th-thank you."

Slowly, with patience and gentle encouragement, she helped him to sit up. Once he was at the edge of the bed, she sat beside him. "You look about Marty's size. I'll bet his clothes will fit you. If you feel up to moving, we can get you cleaned up and into clean clothes. While you eat, I'll change these sweaty sheets."

He just nodded. She did not rush him and she did not leave his side. Her hand on his arm steadied him when he faltered. He was confused as they left the house and walked to a pump in the yard. Looking around the moonlit yard, he frowned deeply at the unfamiliar surroundings. Everything seemed... wrong, but he couldn't place just how. Watching her prime the pump, he felt guilty, but he was uncertain. So he watched everything she did, committing it to memory so she would never have to do this particular task for him again. Once the water was flowing, she helped him wash up, again triggering a wave of guilt that she needed to help him with something so basic. But she offered no complaint.

Once they were back in the kitchen, she left him seated at the table to retrieve clean clothes for him. Returning, she set the clothes on the chair beside him, dropping a pair of boots to the floor near the chair. "Let me get the stove fired up and I can help you get dressed."

"Thank you, but I-I can manage."

"Do you want me to help you back to your room?"

He shook his head, reassured when the room didn't tilt at an odd angle. "I can make it."

"You call me if you need me."

"I-I will."

She watched him struggle to his feet, fighting back an urge to help him. She got the feeling he was an independent man, not used to relying on anyone's help with anything. Once he was gone from the room, she turned to the stove to fix him a hot, light meal.

Once back in the more familiar surroundings of the room he'd woken in, he set the clothes on the bed and proceeded to change, letting his mind wander. It didn't go very far before it encountered a black void beyond which he would find the answers to his questions. But he could not penetrate the darkness., and no answers were forthcoming. It didn't help that he remembered so little from his previous forays into consciousness. He remembered the little girl, Abbie. She was sweet and she had a gentle, soothing touch. He remembered Sarah and her equally gentle manner, and Abbie's mother...uh, Annie...that was it. He also remembered a boy, though vaguely...and...an older man...a doctor...but that was it. He had no memory of how he'd come to be injured, or where he was from, or any other part of his life. His name was Bobby, that much he knew. The other name that made it through the fog, Alex, belonged to someone he felt he should know, but he couldn't draw forth any memories associated with the name.

His head was beginning to throb from the effort to recall his past and he sat heavily on the side of the bed, holding his head. He heard the door open, but didn't move. Sarah sat beside him and gently rubbed his back. "How are you feeling?"

"O-okay...just...my head hurts. I-I can't remember much...of anything."

"Doctor Newton says it will take time for your memory to return."

"I-it's more than just my past. Everything seems...wrong...somehow. I don't belong here."

"Nonsense. You are welcome to stay for as long as you need to."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"I-I'm not sure."

"Well, never you mind about it now. Come and try to eat something. You need time to heal and things will fall into place for you." As he stood, she looked him over, smiling sadly. "Those clothes looked just as good on Marty."

"I am sorry," he said softly.

"For what?"

"For your loss. You're still sad."

"I think I will always be sad."

They walked down he hall, through the parlor and into the kitchen. As he sat down at the table, he asked, "How long were you married?"

"Almost thirteen years."

"No children?"

She shook her head. "I had a fever when I was a child. I can't have children."

"Again, I'm sorry."

She touched his hand. "Don't be. I have Annie Mae and the children. They bring comfort and joy to my life."

"I'm glad to hear that."

He watched her bustle about, warming a thick vegetable stew left over from dinner. "Sorry we don't have any meat right now. Harry will go hunting tomorrow."

She spooned the stew into a bowl and set it in front of him with a roll she'd also warmed. "Eat what you can. I'll be right back."

"Thank you."

Since she'd gotten him up and he'd begun moving around, some of the pain in his body had faded, replaced by a degree of muscle stiffness he found preferable to the pain of inactivity. As he ate, some of the fuzziness cleared from his mind, though his memories remained trapped behind a dark, dense fog. First, he would work on physical recovery. Then he would worry about restoring the memories lost in his mind.

As the hollow emptiness in his stomach was filled, a weariness descended on him. He still had a way to go before his strength and stamina returned, but he'd taken the first steps.

Sarah returned as he pushed away the empty bowl. "Feel better?"

He nodded as she sat across from him. "I needed that," he said with a weary smile.

"I'm sure you did. You should go back to bed. You still need rest and it is late."

He didn't argue. "Thank you for staying up."

"It's not a problem. I don't sleep much these days anyway."

She walked with him back to the bedroom. He took off his shirt and the boots she'd given him. Making certain he was comfortable in the clean bed, she said, "I'll bring more clothes in here for you tomorrow, and put them in the dresser."

He gave her a shy smile. "Thank you, Sarah."

"You're welcome, Bobby. Sleep well."

She stopped in the doorway and looked back. He was already sleeping. She smiled and left the room.


	10. We Have A Missing Officer

Eames was sitting on the couch when Logan showed the last tech to the door. He sat on the couch beside her. "We'll find him, Alex. I promise."

"How can you be so certain, Mike? You saw the blood in that alley. Someone got the jump on him. He could be in the river by now."

Logan was quiet for a moment. "I guess it's partly my fault he got jumped. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to get him to stay at my place. But you know Bobby. He had no reservations about being in any part of town at any hour."

"He thinks he's invincible."

"Yeah, kinda. And when he's had a few too many...well, he can get careless. I'm willing to bet he said the wrong thing to the wrong mutt this time. He'll be kicking himself for letting them take his gun. We'll find him...and I'll kick his ass for scaring us like this. Okay?"

She gave him a small smile but it didn't reassure him. Rising from the couch, she walked down the hall to the bedroom, returning with a change of clothes. Logan said nothing, but he raised a curious eyebrow. She gave him another smile. "It's not what you think. Two weeks ago we got caught in a bad storm as we were finishing up at a scene. We came back here and he gave me a t-shirt to change into while my clothes dried. I got mad at him, for something stupid, and I left in his shirt and went home." She nodded at the clothes in her arms. "He had them cleaned."

Logan grinned. "I'd have given them to you at work the next day in a paper bag."

She smacked his shoulder as they headed for the door. She felt reassured having Logan there with her, believing as she did, that her partner was innocent and they would find him. She once again refused to consider how empty her life would be if Bobby was taken from it. Turning, she looked around the neat apartment once more time before closing and locking the door.

* * *

Eames sat at the small table in Logan's apartment, dressed in one of his t-shirts, nursing a cup of coffee. His apartment wasn't as nice as Bobby's was, or as big, but to her surprise, it was neat and almost cozy. She heard movement in the hall and looked up as he emerged, hair disheveled, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms. He caught her eye and looked down at his state of half-dress. "What? I'm decent." 

She smiled. "Yes, Mike. You are."

He raised an eyebrow, confused. "You spend too much damn time with Goren. It's too damn early to play word games with me."

He went into the kitchen and rummaged around, returning with a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. She looked with interest into the bowl. "Frosted Flakes?"

"I need my morning shot of sugar and putting it in my coffee makes my stomach ill. You want a bowl?"

"No thanks. I'm not hungry. I take my sugar in here." She indicated the cup in front of her.

He pointed his spoon at her. "Look, Alex. Remember when I said I was going to beat your partner for scaring us?"

"Yes."

"Well, he'll beat me if I don't take care of you right. You need to eat."

She studied him for a long moment before finally conceding. Before she could get up, he waved a hand at her. "I'll get it. Frosted Flakes or Froot Loops?"

She laughed quietly. "Frosted Flakes. Thanks, Mike."

* * *

The ride across the river was a quiet one. They were both anticipating a dead end and they were not disappointed. The Hudson County ADA they spoke with had little to offer, beyond the assertion that no one matching Goren's description had been reported at the scene of the drug deal. In particular, the man who had fired the fatal bullet with Goren's gun looked nothing like the missing detective. It was with a feeling of vindication that the two detectives returned to the squad room.

Eames stormed into Ross' office with Logan right behind her. The captain looked up. "Been to New Jersey?"

"Yes, captain. We have. We now know for certain that someone else has Goren's gun. The shooter looks nothing like Bobby."

"Which means he is either incapacitated or dead."

Eames stiffened at the words but nodded her head. "Exactly."

Ross leaned back in his chair and lost himself in thought for a few moments. When he looked back at Eames and Logan he said, "I apologize for upsetting you. But we had to know that he wasn't involved." He lifted a folder from his desk, dropping it back as he said, "The blood on the wallet matched the blood on the badge, and it's a type match for Goren."

"Did they find any drug residue in the blood on his wallet?"

"No. And the preliminary report is in from his apartment. They turned up nothing."

Eames crossed her arms over her chest and waited. "So what are you thinking now?"

"That you were right and something bad happened to your partner. So now we have a missing officer. Let's find him."

Eames didn't move and she didn't take her steady gaze from the captain's face. Ross sighed wearily. "Eames, I'm sorry for playing devil's advocate. But I knew you would back him regardless of what the evidence showed. I wanted you to look at the big picture. Good cops have gone bad before."

"Not Goren. Captain, you don't understand. I know him. He has had a hard life and the last year was hell for both of us, but Logan is exactly right. He is on his way back from a dark place, and things are looking up for him. He is feeling good about his life now. He wouldn't take a sudden turn like that. Something happened to him, and we are going to find out what."

"Just keep me informed," the captain said, no longer inclined to argue with her. He was worried about his missing detective, and so far, everything he was seeing in the evidence they turned up left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like Logan, Goren was sometimes difficult, but both mavericks got good results. Granted, Goren was less inclined toward physical aggression, and sometimes that made Logan a bigger headache. He was finding lately that Goren's psychological tactics, while unconventional, were often amusing and always effective. He was surprised to find that he didn't want to lose his star detective, no matter how much of a headache he proved to be.

The two detectives left the office and headed toward Eames' desk. Logan dropped into Goren's chair. "News flash: we have a missing officer."

Eames leaned back in her chair. "He wouldn't just not come in to work, Mike. He hasn't called anyone. He hasn't been taken to any area hospitals. He hasn't been to his apartment. He has to be somewhere..."

"We know he was in that alley, and that he got hurt there. This may not be the brightest suggestion in the world, but I think we should start with the alley. Let's see if we can get some information from the guys that hang out there."

Eames stared at him. "You and Goren are two peas in a pod. Are you serious?"

"You want to find him? We need to talk to the people who saw him last. The trail ends at that alley. So that's where we start."

Slowly she nodded. "Okay, then. We go and talk to the drug addicts who beat the crap out of my six-foot-four partner. Good plan, Logan."

"Come on. I'll take care of you." She raised an eyebrow at him and he gave her a grin. "Your partner will pound the ever-lovin' crap out of me if I don't."

Her face relaxed into a brief smile and she sighed. "As long as we have back-up standing by."

"Of course."

But she could tell that thought hadn't crossed his mind. "You guys would be lost without me," she grumbled as she got up from her desk and headed for the elevators.

Another grin. "You know it, baby."

When he joined her at the elevator, she smacked his shoulder. "I'm not your baby."

"You prefer 'doll' or 'honey'? You said I couldn't call you sweetheart..."

"Use my name, Logan. That's why I have one."

Following her into the elevator, he said, "Okay, dear...Ow!"

The elevator doors closed as he laughed.


	11. Up and About

When he woke the next morning, he was alone in the room. With care, he sat up and took stock of his pain. It was constant, but not unbearable. Slowly, he got up and crossed to the dresser. As she had promised, Sarah had filled the drawers with clothes for him: trousers made of wool or cotton, a few of heavier denim, and mostly cotton shirts. Set on top of the dresser were two sporting caps, one brown and one black, and a brown slouch hat. In the top drawer he found socks and unionsuits. As he pulled out clothes for the day, he again searched his memory for some reasonable explanation for why he felt so...out of sorts. It had nothing to do with his injuries, which were healing. He simply felt an overwhelming restlessness, a sense that something was fundamentally wrong with him, though he had no clue what it could be.

He sat at the foot of the bed and studied the washstand that sat in the corner of the room for a moment. There was a washcloth and towel hanging off the rack on its side and fresh water in a pitcher to the left of the basin. A small bar of soap was sitting in a dish near the basin. Sitting alongside the basin was a shaving cup with shaving soap inside it alongside a shaving brush and a straight razor, a toothbrush with a small container of toothpowder, and a comb. Moving slowly and carefully, he half-dressed then washed and shaved. Carefully pulling on a shirt, he left the bedroom.

The parlor and the kitchen were empty. He went outside, finding his way to the outhouse and back without difficulty. He stopped at the pump to wash up again and get a drink of water. Wearily, he made his way back to the house, opening the door and stepping into the kitchen.

Sarah was alone in the kitchen. When she turned from the stove and saw him coming through the door, her face brightened. "Look at you," she said with approval. "You must be feeling better."

"I can get around. Thank you...for the clothes and things."

"You're welcome. Sit down and I'll fix you something to eat. How does oatmeal sound?"

"I'll try it."

"The soup I gave you last night didn't upset your stomach, did it?"

"No."

"Then you should be able to handle the oatmeal."

"Uh, where is everyone?"

"Harry is working in the barn and Abbie went with Annie Mae into town."

He nodded and propped his head on a hand, not feeling so well. Sarah crossed to the table while the oatmeal cooked and sat beside him. "Bobby?"

He nodded. "I-I'm all right."

She reached a tentative hand toward him, resting it against his forehead, where beads of sweat had broken out. She was relieved to find that the fever had not returned. He closed his eyes when her fingers touched his forehead. "You need to take it easy," she said as she withdrew her hand.

A brief smile touched his lips. "I haven't _done_ anything. I shouldn't have to recover from getting dressed and shaving."

She returned his smile. "Your strength will return," she promised. "Don't push it."

"I don't want to be a burden to your family. I-I'll earn my keep..."

"We'll discuss that later. There are lots of things you can do around here to help Harry. But you need to recover first."

She returned to the stove and he watched her attend to his breakfast. There was nothing remarkable about her. But he was drawn to the sorrow that seemed to weigh her down and the kindness that shone through that sorrow. "S-so where is Annie's husband?"

"We aren't exactly sure. He's fighting with the Army of Northern Virginia. We haven't heard from him since Fredericksburg in December. It's so hard to get any news from the south."

He looked confused. "Um...what's today's date?"

"May 3."

He swallowed. "An-and the year?"

She set a bowl in front of him, along with a cup of coffee. "1863."

Somehow, that just didn't feel right to him. 1863? His head began to pound as he searched for exactly what was wrong with the date. He pressed his hand to a throbbing temple, and Sarah bustled about, returning to the table to press a glass into his hand. "Here," she whispered.

Her hand was cool against his forehead, gently brushing his hair back. Her other hand rested on his arm and she watched as he downed the contents of the glass she'd given him. He rubbed his temples as she continued to caress his forehead. Gradually the pain began to subside and he no longer felt like vomiting. "I-I'm sorry..." he managed.

"Shh. Don't apologize. You were badly hurt. You can't expect to recover overnight. It will take time."

He had little patience for being at less than his best, and he wasn't certain just why. He couldn't remember how he'd come to be injured, or whether he had been at fault or not, but he hated how easily he fatigued and how readily pain cropped up to take him down. On the other hand, he wasn't about to chase Sarah away. She had a gentle hand and soothing touch. The slamming pain in his head was subsiding and he could feel his body begin to relax.

He offered no resistance as Sarah coaxed him to his feet and gently steered him back to his room. He laid back on the bed and a familiar fog drew in around him, followed by a darkness he could not chase away.

Sarah watched him for a moment as his breathing became even and deepened. She gently pulled off his boots and drew a sheet over him before she left him to sleep.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but he was feeling better when he woke. He got up and pulled on his boots, troubled by the fact that he didn't remember taking them off. He left the room and headed down the hall. The kitchen was empty but he heard voices drifting in through the open window. He opened the door and stepped onto the porch, pleased to see Abbie sitting there. She had a scattering of little wooden jacks on the floor in front of her and she was bouncing a wooden ball as she tried to gather the jacks in her hand on the first bounce of the ball. He eased his tall frame into a chair and smiled when she looked up at him. "Hi, Abbie," he said gently. 

She gathered the jacks and the ball and stuffed them into her pocket as she stood up and approached his chair. Reaching out, she touched his cheek. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. What were you doing?"

"Playing jackstones. Daddy made them for me."

"Your daddy did a lot for you, didn't he?"

She nodded, looking down. "Yes," she answered in a small voice.

He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up toward his. "You miss him," he said when she met his eyes.

She nodded and her eyes brimmed with tears. In spite of the pain in his ribs, he gently lifted her onto his lap. She hugged him, burying her face in his broad chest. Annie Mae and Sarah came around from the side of the house, Sarah carrying a basket filled with carrots and other early season vegetables they had harvested from the garden beside the house. Annie Mae hurried up the steps. "What's wrong?"

He gave her a small smile as she lifted her daughter from his lap. "She misses her father," he explained.

Abbie settled her head on her mother's shoulder. Sarah stepped up onto the porch and set the basket down beside the door. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. My headache has calmed to a dull roar."

She smiled. "Part of that might be hunger. I kept your oatmeal edible."

He got to his feet with a soft grunt but he lifted the basket and carried it inside for her. She was touched by the gesture. So far her initial reservations were being proven to have been very wrong. He was a kind, gentle man, helpful and reluctant to have anyone take care of him.

He set the basket on the counter. "I...I can get water for you."

"That's all right. Harry will be back soon. Sit down and eat. I don't want you overtaxing yourself so soon. You still have a way to go until you are fully recovered."

When she set the bowl of oatmeal in front of him, he said softly, "I told you I'll do my share to help out."

She touched his cheek and gave him a soft smile. "You'll have your chance, when you're stronger. Now eat."

Annie Mae had set Abbie down and the little girl climbed onto the chair beside him, her good cheer restored. "Do you want to play dominoes with me?"

"Abbie," Annie Mae chided. "Let the man eat."

He held out a hand. "It's all right," he assured her. Nodding to Abbie, he said, "I'll play dominoes with you, Abbie."

The little girl happily slid off the chair and skipped out of the room. Annie Mae smiled at him. "You're kind to be willing to play a game with her."

"It's nothing. She...distracts me."

"From what?"

"Pain...and the fact that I can't even remember who I am. My mind...is lost in a...a fog."

Sarah brought him a glass filled halfway with an amber fluid. "Dr. Newton told us to give you whiskey for the pain. It helped you earlier."

He gave her a warm smile. "Thanks."

Abbie returned with a wooden box, which she set on the table and opened, removing a set of old but well kept dominoes. "These are Daddy's, but he lets me play with them. He taught me to play. Sometimes Harry plays with me, but not lately. Now he just works."

Bobby looked at Sarah, who explained, "Harry has taken it hard, not hearing from his father."

"How old is he?"

"Twelve."

He got that. At twelve, a guy looked up to his father. He couldn't remember his own childhood, but he knew that a boy needed his father, especially at Harry's age. "Okay, we're ready," Abbie piped up happily.

With a soft smile he began the game with her. By dinnertime, he was exhausted. He tried to eat with the family, disregarding the sullen, angry looks Harry was giving him, but he didn't have the stomach for it. Sarah was perceptive enough to notice his distress and to excuse him before he collapsed at the table. She guided him back to his room and gently chided, "If you keep overdoing it, you'll never get better."

He groaned softly. "I...I don't like just laying around."

"Well..." She sat beside him and looked into dark eyes that radiated nothing but warmth and kindness. "You can rest a little now, or a lot later. I'd like to see you on your feet soon, so my vote is for you to take it easy now."

"I don't like...needing to be cared for."

"I can tell. But if it makes you feel any better, I really don't mind taking care of you."

He searched her eyes and saw that she meant it. She really didn't mind. He also noticed that some of the sorrow that she carried had retreated, leaving her just a little less burdened. He wondered if he had anything to do with that. "All right, Sarah," he said softly. "Have it your way."

She smiled, a genuine smile that finally touched her eyes. She squeezed his hand. "Can you manage now?"

"I can manage."

"Then good night, Bobby."

She stood up, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, she was gone.


	12. Confrontation

The fact that they had backup just a few blocks away did nothing to chase away the anxiety Eames and Logan felt as they walked down the street toward the alley where Goren had been attacked. Logan was feeling even more apprehensive about his suggestion now, but he wasn't about to back out or admit he might have been mistaken.

Beside him, Eames walked with a confidence he admired. But it wasn't confidence she felt; it was desperation. Every minute that passed took her further from the partner she had come to cherish. The more time that passed, the more desperate she felt. They had no indication he was alive, but, so far, they had no tangible evidence that he was not, so she grasped onto the hope that he still lived. She strode down the street toward the alley with purpose, the only purpose her life had at the moment: to find her missing partner.

It came as no surprise to either cop to find several young men in the alley, even though it was midday. They stopped at the mouth of the alley, watching them pass around a glass pipe. Although neither Eames nor Logan had ever worked narcotics, both knew the smell of burning crystal meth. They waited and watched, until a dark pair of bloodshot eyes turned their way. "Cops," the man snarled, spitting on the ground as if to rid his mouth of the taste of the word.

The four men rose to their feet and studied the cops who dared violate their hangout. "We don't want trouble," Logan said, holding out his hands. "We just want some information."

"What makes you think we got any information for cops?"

"Well," Logan said with exaggerated patience. "We can do this one of two ways, pally. You can answer our questions and we'll get out of here and leave you alone. That's the easy way. But if you insist on doing it the hard way, we can certainly oblige you. Your choice, man. We can talk on your turf or ours, but we're gonna talk."

The man looked at his friends, then back at the two cops. "What's gonna stop us from givin' you the same welcome we gave the last cop who bothered us?"

Logan looked at Eames, then back at the four men. He shrugged. "I dunno...maybe the dozen or so guys we have as backup, just itching for us to give 'em a call so they can haul your asses in and book you. So...you gonna answer our questions?"

Again, the four men exchanged looks. Was the cop bluffing? The last one had no backup, but he'd also been on his way home after a night out with his buddy. This cop was neither off duty, nor was he drunk, the only thing that had given them an advantage Friday night. "Depends on what your questions are, cop."

"Friday night. Were you clowns hanging out here?"

"Maybe."

"Early morning hours...probably around four or so. A buddy of ours was on his way home, but he never made it. We want to know what happened to him."

The four men exchanged glances again, and Logan was certain they knew exactly who he was talking about. The man who served as the mouthpiece for the group said, "What makes you think we know anythin'?"

"This is your turf. You were here Friday night."

"That don't mean we done nuthin' to your buddy."

"Really? So why did we find his badge and his blood right over there, in this fuckin' alley."

The looks the men exchanged were now worried. "You didn't find _him_?"

"I wouldn't be here asking questions if we did, would I?"

More nervous looks were exchanged. "Look, cop, he was alive when we left him."

Hot anger flared behind Logan's eyes, but before it could take a firm hold of him and drive his actions, Eames spoke, her voice stern but oddly calming to him. "What did you do to him?" she demanded in a tone that made it absolutely clear she wanted an answer.

A short, stocky man to the left of the ringleader spoke up. "When he started fightin' what was we s'posed ta do? We fought back."

"Bullshit," Logan snapped. "There's no way in hell he would have started a fight."

"You wasn't here, cop. You didn't see what went down."

Eames spoke again. "He's right. My partner would not have started a fight. But if one of you decided to mess with him...and the rest of you joined in..."

Her voice carried a certainty that increased their worry. Behind the leader a young man, barely eighteen if he was even that, said, "He asked for it."

The leader turned to glare at him. "Shut up, kid."

"Hey, that cop put my brother in the hospital."

"And I'm gonna put you in one if you don't shut your fuckin' mouth!"

There was no doubt. These addicts had been the ones who had shed Goren's blood on Friday night. Logan was on the leader in three long strides, taking advantage of his distraction. He grabbed the man by his shirt and slammed him against the brick wall of one of the buildings, pressing the barrel of his now-drawn gun against the man's nose. "Right now, man, you tell me what happened to my buddy."

Eames had drawn her gun and held the other three at bay while Logan had his discussion with their leader. None of them took a chance and they remained where they were.

Logan didn't waver. His eyes narrowed. "Talk, sparky. Now."

"Okay, okay," he answered in a panic. "He was walkin' by an' we could tell he was a cop and he was drunk. So we decided to have some fun with him."

"Four to one?"

"No. Five."

"So you ganged up on him and beat the shit out of him?"

"That's it, man."

"Where'd you dump him?"

"We didn't dump him nowhere. We left him here. We took the cash from his wallet and dropped it in the gutter down the street, and we scored enough for a few more hits."

"If you left him here, where the hell did he go?"

"Don't ask us, man. When we came back Saturday afternoon he was gone."

Logan released him and backed toward Eames, stopping beside her. "His piece...where'd that go?"

"We swapped it."

"For?"

"A variety pack," he answered, a sneer in his voice as his confidence returned with the cop's withdrawal from his face.

"Pal, you got three seconds to elaborate..."

"We got weed, smack, rock..." He grinned again. "A good trade."

"Who got his gun, smart guy?"

"It's outta our hands, copper. I got no idea."

Logan was rapidly losing patience. He stepped toward the man again, but Eames laid a hand on his arm, halting his advance. "I know you won't tell us who you deal with but where did the deal go down?"

He studied her with a look that made Logan bristle and step closer to her. With another sneer, the leader answered, "Somewhere between the Battery and Harlem."

Logan's eyes narrowed but Eames tugged on his arm before their situation deteriorated. "Come on, Mike," she hissed. To the drug addict and his friends, she said, "Thanks for your help. If you find any trace of what happened to him, contact the Major Case squad."

"Sure thing, sweetness."

She yanked Logan's arm hard and shoved him down the street away from the alley. "Let's go, Mike, before you get the same treatment Bobby got."

"I'd like to give a little treatment," he growled, glancing over his shoulder to glare at the four men who watched them walk off down the block.

"It's not worth it, Mike. Forget it."

"Not worth it? I dunno, Alex...it'd make me feel a helluva lot better."

"Do you have any idea how much I hate visiting hospitals, Logan?"

"You and me both...but those mutts are responsible for your missing partner. I gotta tell you, Alex, as much as you don't want to hear it, I'm worried."

She shook her head. "Shut up, Logan...please."

He sighed heavily and walked on beside her in silence. The more time that passed, the greater the sinking feeling in his gut became. Eames herself had said it. _He could be in the river by now. _As much as he hated to think it, he was beginning to think she might be right.


	13. Recovery, Resentment and Retaliation

Bobby's strength returned quickly as he recovered from his injuries. His body healed well, but his memories remained hidden behind an impenetrable fog in his mind. He still had no idea who the name Alex belonged to, although when he woke late at night as he drifted between sleep and awareness, vague shadows slipped in and out of his mind, unbidden, accompanied by voices he felt he should know but did not.

The days allowed him to escape the shadows that haunted his sleep. As his body recovered, he found it easier to work in the garden and the barn. He still was not up to working in the fields, and it bothered him to see Annie Mae head out to help her son every morning and every afternoon. Sarah sensed his regret and reassured him. Soon he would be fit enough to help Harry in the fields and take the burden off Annie Mae.

As much as Abbie sought him out, so Harry avoided him. He could clearly see the young man's resentment, and he understood it. He was searching for an opportunity to let Harry know he had no desire to replace his father. He simply wanted to help out, to repay the family for their kindness to him. But every time they were alone, if Bobby tried to talk to him, Harry left. At the dinner table, he was sullen and withdrawn. For now, Bobby felt his best bet was to just leave the boy alone. So that was what he did.

* * *

The nights were still cool, even though it was late May. Bobby enjoyed spending the night hours before bed sitting on the porch. He tried to relax and regain access to his memories, but they remained stubbornly hidden. He still felt a vague sense of not belonging, but he attributed it to the fact that he had been raised in the city, not on a farm like this. 

He enjoyed the physical labor of the farm. At the end of the day, the exhaustion he felt was satisfying, and he looked forward to each morning. For several hours after going to bed, he slept well and deeply before the dream shadows chased sleep away. If he found himself unable to return to sleep, he would head out onto the porch until he felt relaxed enough to try sleeping again. He liked the solitude of the late night and found the insect sounds helped him unwind after being woken by dark, disturbing dreams, haunted by shadows that never touched the light.

Most nights he was able to ease back into sleep after spending time trying to reach his paralyzed memory, but sometimes, he just could not settle back down. Those nights found him on the porch, letting the cool night breeze dry his sweat-soaked hair. As May faded into June, he found himself pacing on the porch after a particularly disturbing nightmare, smoking a cigarette and nursing a glass of whiskey as he tried with little success to escape the images that accosted him. Faceless people coming at him from unfamiliar surroundings that he felt he should know, calling to him in unrecognized voices that should have been familiar...

His racing heart was finally calming as he continued to pace, restless thoughts drowning out the sounds of the night. He didn't hear the door open. "Bobby?"

Alarmed, he spun on his heel to face her. He couldn't explain the relief he felt on seeing a face that was familiar. "Sarah," he whispered.

She approached him as he stubbed out the cigarette and set the glass on the railing. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He looked up into the night sky that showed no hint of dawn. "Why are you up?" he wondered.

"Abbie had a bad dream and I woke up before Annie did. After I got her back to sleep, I heard you out here."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb anyone."

"You didn't. I wouldn't have heard you if I wasn't awake. Are you all right?"

He nodded. "I'm fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Another nightmare?"

He nodded, turning away to look out across the yard toward the barn. A half moon sat high in the sky, illuminating the buildings and surrounding yard. He trembled involuntarily when she touched his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He turned his head to look down into her face. Slowly, he shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. M-my memories are trying to break through, but they can't. That's all it is. I'll be fine."

Sarah was pleased that he had fully recovered from his injuries. There wasn't much to do in the fields until the harvest, so he busied himself making repairs around the place and helping Harry with the animals and farm chores. He'd seemed unfamiliar with the workings of a farm, but he learned quickly. She didn't quite understand his unfamiliarity with livestock—even city dwellers owned horses—but she attributed it to his head injury and the resulting memory loss that had come with it. His frequent nightmares, however, troubled her. She understood Abbie's unrest; she feared for her father's life and she missed him. But she wondered what had happened in Bobby's life to so often disturb his rest. Somehow she sensed it had nothing to do with something he had done, but rather things that had been done to him. She wondered if he'd fought in the War and it was that trauma that had robbed him of his memory.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help you?"

He studied her hazel eyes. He had noticed lately that they carried less sorrow than they had before, and he was glad to see that. Her smile came more readily and she laughed more with Annie Mae and the children. He raised a hand and lightly trailed his fingers down the side of her face. "Thank you, Sarah, but there's nothing you can do. Go on back to bed."

She rested her hand over his. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'm sure."

She let a soft sigh escape from her lips, and his eyes traveled slowly from her eyes to her mouth, then back. She could almost feel his gaze, it was so intense, and it was so easy to get lost in the spell cast by his dark eyes. She stepped back, and it was like crossing an invisible line drawn around him by his intensity. Sliding her hand slowly across his cheek, she turned and went into the house.

He stared after her for a long moment before turning back to face the yard. He felt more relaxed now and almost ready to return to sleep as he finished the last swallow in his glass and went into the house. Setting the glass in the sink, he returned to his room and very soon, sleep did return.

* * *

When he walked into the kitchen as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Sarah was busy getting things ready for breakfast. He could tell she'd only just woken. "Good morning," he said lightly. 

She smiled at him, which brightened his day almost as much as Abbie's happy disposition did. "Good morning," she replied.

He squatted in front of the stove. Since he and Sarah tended to rise with the sun, they'd established a morning ritual. Sarah would set the kitchen up for breakfast and Bobby would stoke the fire for the day. Then he would get water from the pump while Sarah gathered eggs from the chicken coop. By the time they got back to the house, the children and Annie Mae would be getting up.

After breakfast, Harry immediately left for the barn. Bobby insisted on helping clean up after meals, which Harry frowned on. Kitchen work was for women and girls, and he couldn't understand why Bobby insisted on helping them, but he never asked. He never said much to the big man, and he never intended to. He was waiting for the day his father came home and took them back to Virginia. What happened to Bobby after that was not his concern. Right now, he watched to make sure the man never stepped out of line with his mother and sister. Sarah, he knew well, could take care of herself, but he tried to watch out for her, too. His biggest concern, however, was for Abbie. She was so sweet and so trusting, and her fondness for Bobby disturbed him. She had no ideas about Yankees, even though they lived among them. If that man ever destroyed his sister's trust or betrayed her heart, he swore to kill him. No one was going to hurt his little sister.

When Bobby joined him in the barn, Abbie was with him, as usual. That was fine with Harry. Abbie kept the man occupied, and he didn't usually try talking to him. Abbie ran right over to Thunder and offered him a sugar cube, his favorite treat. The gelding knew she always had one for him and when she teased him by not offering it right away, he would search for it. The search always ended with Abbie on the ground, giggling as she gave him his treat. She didn't tease him today, though, and he nibbled it from her open palm with soft lips. Then he nickered at her as she slipped into the stall and opened the door at the far end so he could go outside into the adjoining corral. She scurried into the next stall, where Lightning, a black gelding with a white streak on his forehead, waited for his sugar cube. Although Thunder was her favorite, she liked Lightning, too. She let the black horse out into the large corral with Thunder and watched them toss their heads and run with each other. Once they had calmed down, she let the goats out. They were due to deliver their kids soon, and she was excited about that. She loved having baby goats around, even if they didn't stay too long. Mama had told her she could choose one to keep for her very own this time though, because she was old enough to care for one. That increased her excitement.

Harry continued shoveling as Abbie came back into the barn to help Bobby milk the cow. That was another chore she loved but was too little to do. Bobby always let her help him, though, and that made her happy. Harry had to admit, Abbie laughed so much more with Bobby around. Part of him resented that, because it should be his father here making the little girl laugh, but a bigger part of him appreciated it, because he needed to hear her laugh. Whatever he did, Bobby made Abbie happy, and Harry couldn't outright hate him for just that reason.

While he cleaned out the stalls, Harry listened to the quiet talking and laughter from Maisie's stall. Ever since Bobby had begun to recover from his injuries, Harry noticed a change in everyone, and he didn't quite understand it, perhaps because he refused to let himself like their houseguest at all. His mother seemed more at ease, and even Cousin Sarah was no longer as sad as she had been. He had to admit, the man seemed to be nice, and he was kind and gentle to Abbie. But he was not going to take his father's place, not with him, anyway.

"Harry?"

He looked up as Annie Mae came into the barn. "Yes, Mama?"

"Would you mind going into town for us? We need some supplies from Mr. Willis and we finally have enough vegetables for a decent barter."

"All right."

"Can I go?" Abbie asked.

Annie Mae hesitated. She hated letting Abbie out of her sight. Sentiments in town could be unpredictable, and Harry took offense at the smallest slight where his sister was concerned. "I don't know, Abbie..."

"Please, Mama!"

Her eyes shifted to Bobby. "Well...if Bobby was willing to take part of his day to go along..."

The little girl spun around to face him, accidentally kicking the bucket of milk, which sloshed milk over his hand as he grabbed it. Fortunately, little milk was lost. "Please, Bobby..." she begged.

He smiled at the pleading face and touched a little cheek. "All right. Go get washed up."

She clapped her hands and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you!"

Then she ran out of the barn. Annie Mae smiled at him. "Yes, thank you."

He shrugged. "It takes so little to make her happy."

She nodded. "And you are very good at finding those little things that do."

She bustled back to the house to help Abbie change her clothes for the visit to town as Bobby finished milking the cow and Harry continued shoveling out the other stalls. When he finished the milking, Bobby looked toward the large stall where the four goats slept. "Do you want some help harnessing the horses?"

"No, thanks. I can do it."

Bobby started to say something else but thought better of it and left the barn. Harry watched him go, seething with resentment. He angrily spread fresh straw in the stall and pushed the wheelbarrow out of the barn to replenish the manure pile he used to fertilize the fields. Then he led the cow out of her stall, which he would clean after they returned from town, and turned her loose in the pasture with the goats. Pulling out the harnesses, he got busy with the horses and the buckboard.

* * *

Harry was almost done with Owen Willis, the owner of the mercantile. Abbie flitted around the store while Bobby stayed close to her. When Mrs. Willis gave her a peppermint stick and she was so excited she forgot to thank her, Bobby bent over and gently reminded her. That made Harry smile, but he was careful not to let anyone see it. 

As they were loading the buckboard, Abbie played on the sidewalk. Harry noticed that, even though they were busy, Bobby still kept a watchful eye on the little girl. He relaxed as he continued loading the supplies, satisfied that his sister was safe.

He didn't notice the men that approached, but Bobby did. Sensing something wasn't right, he stepped away from the buckboard closer to Abbie. Harry turned with a frown to see what he was doing when one of the men called out, "Hey, reb!"

Harry looked around to see who he was talking to, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was talking to him. He wasn't surprised. The last time he'd come to town, these same guys had harassed him and he'd nearly run one of them over as he headed for home. They'd tried to grab Thunder's bridle, but the horse had reared away from him, and he and Lightning had bolted for home. Harry thought they were in a panic, but as soon as they left town, both horses had settled into a trot. He was just glad Abbie hadn't been with him. It would have terrified her. Even now he felt his heart rate jump when they stopped near the horses. Ignoring them, he loaded the last of the supplies.

"I'm talkin' to you, reb boy."

The man started forward, followed by his two friends, but Bobby stepped directly into their path. The man looked up into an angry face. "Leave the boy alone," Bobby warned.

Before intervening, he had whispered to Abbie to run to her brother, which she did. Harry set her in the buckboard and told her to hide under the seat. Terrified, she did as he asked, watching everything unfold with wide, frightened eyes.

The man who'd yelled at Harry now tried to size Bobby up, and he wasn't quite sure of the odds. "This ain't your fight," the man growled, losing a little of his previous steam as he realized that this big man was not a reb, in spite of the fact that he was with the two reb kids who lived out on the Cahill farm.

"There is no fight," Bobby said, his voice carrying a clear warning.

"Look, this little reb..."

"Has not bothered anybody," he finished the man's sentence for him. "And if I were you, I'd stop calling him that."

The smaller man's face began to turn purple. His friends looked nervous. Bobby stood his ground. He was neither intimidated nor uncertain. One of the other men whispered, "Maybe we should get out of here, Jasper..."

"Shut up!"

Bobby leaned a little closer to the man names Jasper. "I'd listen to him, if I were you, Jasper. This boy takes care of his family and minds his own business. Leave him alone."

Jasper studied him suspiciously. "You ain't no reb. What's he to you? Unless you be owing his momma..."

Harry's shout of outrage was a faint background noise as anger boiled up within Bobby. This family did nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. They were good, kind people trying to survive difficult times. He moved a step closer to Jasper, close enough for the man to definitely feel threatened, and when the smaller man swung, Bobby felt no remorse at all for swinging back. Harry started forward, until he heard Abbie's terrified whimper. _Abbie..._

He jumped up into the wagon and gently shoved her under the seat, covering her with a blanket and whispering to her to stay put. Then he ran to help Bobby.

The three men descended on Bobby at once, but he had no trouble handling them...until something solid and heavy slammed into his head. There was an explosion of light and he was out before he hit the sidewalk.


	14. A Dead End

Eames got out of the car and looked at the neat lawn surrounding the brick home that belonged to their former captain. She turned her head to look at Logan. "You really think we should bother him with this?"

"Yeah, I do."

With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and headed down the sidewalk to the walkway that led to the porch. She hesitated briefly before knocking. When Deakins opened the door, he was surprised to see two of his detectives on the porch, but he was even more surprised to see which detectives were there. Instantly, his career cop's brain grasped onto the most likely scenario for Eames to show up on his doorstep with Logan and not Goren. If Bobby had been killed on the job, these two would be the ones to deliver the news.

Eames and Logan both read the look on Deakins' face, and Eames immediately said, "It's nothing like that, Captain! Bobby's not dead...at least, we don't think he is...I..."

Logan placed a hand against her back and said, "He's missing. Can we talk with you?"

"Come in," he said without hesitation.

He led them into the living room, where Angie was sitting. She got to her feet and welcomed the two detectives, also surprised to see Eames without Goren. She knew immediately that things were not right. "What's wrong?"

Deakins leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Bobby's missing," he informed her.

She gasped softly. She was very fond of Goren and her face reflected her distress. "I'll make some coffee," she said, excusing herself from the room so they could get right to business.

"Tell me what happened," Deakins said as he sat down and motioned for them to do the same.

Eames began, "The last time anyone saw him was Friday night into Saturday morning. He went out with Logan and he was jumped by a gang of meth heads on his way home. They made him as a cop and decided to mess with him because he was drunk."

Logan concluded, "They beat the crap out of him and took off. We found his badge and his blood in the alley they left him in. His wallet turned up in a gutter down the street and his gun has been used in a couple of drug-related shootings."

Deakins let out a low whistle. "What did Captain Ross say?"

Eames' face darkened. "He tried to make him out to be a cop gone bad at first. He even had CSU shake down his apartment for drugs."

Deakins got to his feet, giving that some thought as he paced the floor in the center of the room. "I talked to Ross after the funeral. He said Bobby was...difficult."

"He had a bad year," Eames responded defensively. "His mother was dying, and he didn't handle that very well."

"I know," Deakins admitted. "I stayed in touch with him. I have also talked to Danny Ross. He is wary of Bobby, but he is impressed with his skill as a profiler and an interrogator. I told him to wait until he gets back on his feet and hits his stride again. Five years as his captain and he never lost the ability to surprise me."

Eames smiled sadly. "What do we do, Captain?"

"First, you call me Jimmy because I'm not your captain any more. Second, tell me what you've done so far."

They carefully detailed for him everything they had done and everything they found out about Goren's disappearance. Angie brought in a tray with three coffee cups, cream and sugar, then left the room again. Deakins stopped his pacing and studied the space above the bay window that graced one wall of the living room. "The first thing you do is find his gun. You don't need any more deaths traceable to a cop's gun. Then you talk to some of the guys over in narcotics, see what they can find out on the street. Someone has to have seen him."

"Do you think there's a chance he's still alive?" Eames asked, refusing to succumb to despair.

Deakins nodded. "He's a street-smart cop."

"So why's he hiding?" Logan asked. "That's not like him."

"Either something is preventing him from calling or he has a damn good reason for not making contact. What were you working on?"

"We just finished up a murder, but we haven't worked anything drug-related."

"Nothing involving the Masuccis or another crime family?"

"No, nothing."

As he pondered that, Eames' phone rang. She pulled it out. "Eames."

She listened intensely as Logan and Deakins watched the color drain from her face. "All right, Captain, we'll check it out...yes, I'll let you know."

She slipped the phone back into her pocket, unable to keep the distress from her face and her voice. "We have to get back. They have a victim matching Bobby's description."

Logan got to his feet. "Let's go then. Which hospital?"

She didn't move except to slowly shake her head. "We have to go see Rodgers."

He stared at her. "Rodgers? Wait...she knows Bobby. She can't tell if it's him or not?"

"This victim has been beaten beyond recognition. We know him a lot better than she does, and she's hoping we can tell her yes or no."

"How 'bout we just say 'no' and keep looking?"

Deakins shook his head. "Go with her, Logan. Call me and let me know. In the meantime, I'll make some calls."

Eames hugged him. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Try not to despair," Deakins answered. "He'll turn up."

She nodded and headed out the door with Logan right behind her.

* * *

The ride back to Manhattan was silent and Logan kept looking over at Eames as she drove. Finally, she said, "Look at me one more time, Logan, and I'll give you a black eye."

"Okay, then, tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't know what to think. I have nothing to go on. The captain put out a BOLO on Bobby and Rodgers called him an hour ago. She can't tell for certain, but she thinks it could be him. One of her techs tried to take prints, but his fingers are too badly burned to leave usable prints. It sounds like whoever did this didn't want this guy identified."

"That fits with the upstanding citizens who jumped him in the first place."

"You are _not_ making me feel any better, Logan."

"Sorry. I know you're scared..."

"Scared? Mike, I'm terrified. This vic is dead. What if...?"

She trailed off and he jumped on the opportunity. "Don't go there, Alex. Just don't. We'll see what we have when we get there, but don't make yourself crazy imagining things."

"My imagination had been on the fast track since I realized something was wrong."

He reached toward her and gently took her hand in a reassuring gesture so far out of character for him she did a double take to make sure it was Logan beside her and not Goren. Softly, he said, "We'll face reality when it jumps up to bite us in the ass. Right now, concentrate on the fact that it's just as likely this vic isn't him."

"I can't help it. I'm worried."

"I know, sweetheart. So am I."

She accelerated through a yellow light, and she couldn't find it inside herself to object to his use of the term 'sweetheart.' Right now, it was the only comfort she could find. Her world was teetering on the brink of collapse and one dead victim could bring it all crashing down on top of her.

* * *

The body was covered with a white sheet and she stopped before they got to it. Rodgers grabbed the corner of the sheet and hesitated, waiting for Eames to prepare herself. Finally, she stepped up to the table and nodded. The ME drew back the sheet, uncovering the victim to the waist.

Eames studied the body in front of her. His size and build certainly were similar to those of her missing partner. It did not surprise her that Rodgers thought it could be Goren. She studied the man's torso and closed her eyes. She had seen more than her share of dead bodies, so it wasn't the condition of the body or the fact that it was dead that nearly knocked the floor out from under her. It wasn't the dark hair or broad chest that made her softly gasp. "It-It's not him..."

"Are you certain, detective?"

"Absolutely," she affirmed, opening her eyes. She waved a hand over the man's lower right abdomen. "Bobby had an appendectomy. He has a scar from it." Her hand moved to the man's chest. "And he has another scar here, from a bullet..." Finally, she pointed to the victim's shoulder. "And he does not have a snake tattooed over his shoulder. It's not him."

She did not go further, to point out the absence of several other faded scars, physical evidence of his mother's attempts to chase the demons from her young son when her disease raged out of control...or the ones he had received at the hands of a drunken father...She remembered the fist time she'd seen his chest and back. The scars were faded, most barely visible, but they were there, etched into her memory as surely as they were etched into his skin. No, Bobby was still out there, somewhere...but where?


	15. Time Goes On

**A/N: Just a note to point out that the passage of time between Bobby's disappearance and reappearance in the present day is not the same as the passage of time in 1863. Hope that's not too confusing. Anyone who wants a more detailed explanation, feel free to drop a PM and ask! Enjoy :-)**

* * *

Bobby stirred with a soft groan, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings. His room...he was in his room. The last thing he remembered was being in town, outside the mercantile, defending Abbie and Harry. Slowly, he raised a hand to the side of his head, which was bandaged. He heard movement in the room and the soft glow of a lamp penetrated the darkness. He squinted against the light, but he didn't need to look to see who was there. "Sarah..." he said softly. "Wh-what time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

"Why are you still up?"

"I had to be sure you were all right. How do you feel?"

"Other than a headache, I think I'm okay. How...how did I get home?"

"Owen Willis and two other shopkeepers stepped in to stop the men who hit you. Owen likes the children and he isn't one to tolerate any bullying. He and Pete Garrett brought you home."

"I'll have to thank them."

She reached out her hand and gently smoothed her fingers over a bruise on his cheek. "You were defending Abbie and Harry."

He looked puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because..." She stopped short of identifying him as a Yankee. "Bobby, are you a Southern sympathizer or an abolitionist?"

He shook his head slowly. "North and South have nothing to do with what I did, Sarah. Abbie and Harry did. I haven't taken sides in this war. I just try to go about my life and mind my own business."

"So you're not a soldier?"

He gave it some thought. "No. I don't think so. There are certain...feelings I get...about what is right or not with my life. I'm pretty sure I'm not a soldier, but I may have been at one time. Not in the war though."

"What about family?"

Again he shook his head. "I don't think I have a family."

She studied his face. "You do now," she whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, at the corner of his mouth. "Rest now. I'll see you in the morning."

Her fingers gently stroked his cheek, and then she put out the lamp and left the room.

* * *

He slept later than usual the next morning and walked into the kitchen while the family was eating breakfast. Abbie jumped to her feet and ran into a hug. "Are you okay?" she demanded, looking up into his face. 

He smiled at her, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I'm fine."

He sat down a little heavily. He felt all right, but his head still throbbed. Annie Mae and Sarah got up from the table and bustled about before he could object. Annie brought him coffee and Sarah placed a plate of food in front of him. Then Annie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for defending my children."

Embarrassed by the attention, he gave her a shy smile and murmured a soft thank you to them. When he looked up, he found Harry's dark stare on him. He was used to the young man's resentment and he learned the best thing was just to leave him alone. If he spoke, Harry would get up from the table and leave. He returned his attention to the breakfast in front of him. "Bobby?"

He looked up again, surprised to hear the boy addressing him. "Yes, Harry?"

"You didn't have to do what you did."

Bobby debated the best way to answer him. He had no motive for what he'd done beyond protecting the two children. "Yes," he answered. "I did."

"There were three of them."

"And they could have hurt you badly. They didn't do any damage to me," he said with a small smile. "I have a hard head."

Abbie giggled and her mother shushed her. Bobby smiled at her then looked back at Harry. "I don't like bullies," he asserted firmly.

"You thought about Abbie first."

"Of course. I wasn't going to let her get hurt."

"But I don't get why you did it."

"Harry, that's enough," Annie Mae gently chided him. "Finish your breakfast and get to your chores."

Harry frowned and looked at his plate. "Yes, Momma."

Bobby raised a hand. "It's all right, Annie. Look at me, Harry."

Harry did as he was asked and Bobby leaned his head to the left a little. "Why do you think I did it?"

"I know why you protected Abbie. She's just a little girl, and she loves you. But I haven't given you any reason to like me..."

Bobby shook his head slowly. "Do you think I resent you because you miss your father? I understand how you might misunderstand my presence here. Harry, I'm not trying to take your father's place. I stay because your family can use the help, and I owe your mother and Sarah a lot for saving my life. I stay because I like this family and I want to help. Right now, I have nowhere else to go. But I am not trying to take your father's place. Not in any way."

Harry studied him. He didn't respond, but Bobby could tell he was thinking. When he was done eating, Harry placed his dishes in the sink and left the house. He didn't say anything more. Abbie looked at Bobby. "Harry let me help him milk Maisie this morning. It wasn't as fun as when you let me help. He wouldn't let me squirt milk at the kittens. And Momma is gonna let me help pick vegetables after we eat."

He smiled at her. "You're getting to be a big girl, Abbie. Pretty soon, you'll be able to milk Maisie all by yourself."

"Really?"

"Really."

She finished her breakfast and cleaned her place, waiting with barely contained excitement for her mother. Soon, Bobby and Sarah were alone in the kitchen. He finished his breakfast as she bustled about the kitchen. When he was done, he stepped up behind her and set his plate in the sink. Looking down, he touched her elbow and spoke softly, "I'll go help Harry in the barn."

"You can rest if you need to..."

"I'm fine. A little headache and a couple of bruises aren't going to keep me down."

She turned her head to look at him. The bruise on his cheek was much darker and his eye was swollen. Another bruise colored his jaw just below the left side of his mouth. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." He held her gaze for a moment, then asked, "Are you ready for the water?"

She nodded, and he retrieved the large pot of hot water from the stove. Pouring what she needed into the sink so she could wash the dishes, he returned the pot, still a quarter full, to the stove. He gave her another brief smile and left the house. She watched him cross the room and disappear through the door. With a sigh, she began washing the breakfast dishes.

* * *

After lunch, Harry and Bobby returned to the barn. The tension that had existed between them seemed to be gone, Sarah noted with relief. She hated the way Harry had treated Bobby, when he had done nothing to deserve the boy's resentment. Once she had cleaned up after lunch, she left the house and went around to the front, where she carefully selected several flowers from the flowerbeds Abbie helped her to maintain. Then she headed past the garden across a small pasture that was fallow at the moment and up onto a small hill. A single oak tree stood guard over the farm from the hilltop and beneath it, was a simple grave, adorned only by a wooden cross driven into the ground at its head.

Out in the corral by the barn, Bobby noticed her up on the hill, and he stopped to watch her for a moment. Harry came out of the barn, leading Lightning, and he followed the big man's gaze. His mouth set in a tight line. "It's been two years," he said, a touch of sorrow in his voice.

Bobby looked at him. "Two years?"

"Since Marty died. Two years ago today. I think fate was kind to her, taking him that way. He died two months after Fort Sumter, right before we moved here, and he was going to join the Union army. He could have ended up shooting across a battlefield at my father."

"Didn't Marty and your dad grow up together?"

"Yeah, but Marty moved up here before I was born. Unfortunately, all Yankees aren't like you and Sarah. There's a lot of hatred around these days, on both sides. I try to stay out of it, for Momma and Sarah. I thought about running off and trying to find my father, maybe join the war...but who would take care of things around here? Now that you're here..."

Bobby shook his head. "Harry, don't. I understand how you feel, but your mother needs you here. It's hard enough for her with your father gone, not knowing where he is."

"I know. That's why I stay. For her, and for Abbie."

Bobby nodded his approval of the boy's thoughtfulness. "Do you need my help right now?"

"No. I'm just exercising him."

Bobby nodded and left the corral, keeping his eyes on the lone figure beneath the oak tree on the hill.

She heard him come up behind her, and she was grateful for his presence. He looked over her shoulder at the grave but said nothing. She remained silent for a few minutes before she finally spoke. "He went to help a friend break a stubborn horse. He was thrown into a section of fence. They brought him home and he died two days later. He never woke up."

His body tensed as much at what she said as at the sorrow that carried in her voice. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

She nodded acknowledgment. "He was good to me. When we realized I couldn't have children, we began to look into adopting. On our tenth anniversary, we found a little girl in an orphanage in the city. She was two. Before the paperwork could be completed, she got cholera and died. So he bought Thunder for me. It was the best he felt he could do without breaking my heart. He was a good man."

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Reaching out, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she turned, burying herself in his broad chest. He put his arms around her and held her, letting his eyes rest on the two-year-old grave with the fresh flowers on it. When she finally stepped from his arms, she whispered, "Thank you, Bobby."

He watched her walk away, down the hill toward the house, and he wondered if there was any way he could ever remove the mantel of sorrow that blanketed her life.

* * *

The breezy green of spring gave way to the warm days of summer, and Bobby remained with the family. They welcomed his presence and the security it brought in times that had become very uncertain. News that the war had pushed north and shed the blood of blue and gray on the farmland outside Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, was deeply troubling. Before that, they had felt safe, nestled in the north well away from the fighting. Gettysburg brought the war to their doorstep and that put everyone on edge, except Abbie, who sensed the tension but it dissipated quickly when she entered a room.

Rather than push further into northern territory, though, Lee's army retreated back to Virginia after their loss at Gettysburg and gradually the tension subsided. Aside from the stress of not knowing anything about Hank's fate, apprehension about the war showing up on their doorstep faded and the routine of day-to-day survival continued. They were fortunate to be able to meet the family's needs with some extra to be put away for winter, and they were comfortable.

* * *

The days of late August were warm but the nights were cool. The fields were ready to be harvested, and that kept Bobby and Harry busy from dawn until well past sunset. No longer a stranger, in spite of the fact that his memories remained firmly hidden in an impenetrable fog within his mind, Bobby was now firmly a member of the family. Days of constant physical exertion left him exhausted and when he slept, few of his memories seeped out to haunt him. The name Alex still crept into his mind, and he wished he could place a face to the name, but try as he might, his memories remained locked in a vault for which he had no key.

The hint of fall was beginning to creep into the air as the calendar turned to September. Only one field remained to be harvested; in a few weeks the work in the fields would be done and both Harry and Abbie would return to school.

The house was quiet, but Bobby couldn't sleep. He wasn't certain what was keeping him up; he never knew for sure. Sometimes his body was simply unable to unwind and his mind would not quiet. He wouldn't care about that if it got him somewhere, but he was no closer to knowing who he was than he had been when he first woke up in that room five months ago. Knowing he would get nowhere laying there in the dark, he got up, pulled on a pair of pants and his boots, and he headed out of the house. Sometimes, walking through the fields where he labored all day was calming for him. Sometimes he could sleep after wandering around the small farm.

Stepping out onto the porch, he was surprised to find Sarah sitting on the steps, watching the stars that peppered the sky. "Sarah?"

She turned to look at him and smiled. "What are you doing up?"

He sat down on the step beside her. "I couldn't sleep. Why are you up?"

"The same reason. The nights can be too long for me, so I watch the stars for awhile. Sometimes I do quiet chores...there's always something I can do. What about you?"

"I used to work in the barn, but I annoyed the horses, so I stopped."

She laughed, and the sound made him smile. Sarah didn't laugh enough and that troubled him. He wanted her to be happy. When he and Harry came in from the fields, she would be waiting on the porch with Abbie and Annie. He couldn't explain the feeling he got when he saw her, but he liked it. After dinner, he and Harry would sit on the porch with the women and Abbie, unwinding from the labor of the day. After Annie took Abbie to bed and Harry turned in, he would sit with Sarah on the porch, enjoying the night and her company. She would tell him about her childhood, which was a happy one. Sometimes, she would talk about Marty, but her memories were always made bittersweet by her loss, and he tried to steer the conversation away from anything that caused her pain.

Reaching toward her, he brushed her hair off her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. A quarter moon had risen and its soft light touched her face. His fingers trailed lightly along her jawline and her eyes slid closed. Leaning in closer, he softly kissed her. When she didn't object, he kissed her again, pulling her against his chest. Her arms slipped around his neck and she was surprised when the tip of his tongue played along her lips. He withdrew his tongue and deepened the kiss. When the tip of his tongue touched her lips again with a little pressure, she parted them and groaned when his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She broke the kiss and gently ran her fingers over his lips. He struggled to settle his breathing and his heart rate, letting her withdraw. Her voice trembled when she whispered, "Good night, Bobby."

Delivering another soft kiss, she got to her feet and went into the house. He stayed where he was for a long time, watching the stars and willing his body to calm down. He went for a walk, checked on the animals and finally made his way back to the house and his room.

After undressing, he slid into bed. Folding his arms beneath his head, wide awake, he stared at the ceiling. His thoughts turned to family. Family was important. He had no idea what happened to his, if he ever even had one. But here, he felt a sense of belonging that somehow seemed alien to him, and he wasn't sure why. Regardless, he was content, if not happy, with this family and he would stay as long as he was welcome.

There was a soft knock at the door and he muttered "Come in."

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, expecting to see Abbie in the doorway, half-sobbing from another nightmare about her missing father. When she couldn't find comfort in her mother's arms, she sought him out, and he did his best to reassure her. He was surprised when Sarah stepped from the shadows and sat lightly on the edge of the bed at his side. He could barely make her out in the dim light cast by the moonlight that shone through the window. Turning onto his side, he raised his hand and ran his fingers through long, soft hair. Leaning down, she kissed him again. With deft fingers she began to unbutton her nightgown. He groaned softly and helped her.

Her skin was soft and smooth. He moved over and she slid into the bed beside him. With great relish he explored her body with hands and mouth. His mind did not remember his past, but his body told him it had been a long time since he'd enjoyed a woman.

Sarah responded to him with a passion that delighted him, and when he finally climaxed, it was hard and intense. The name that whispered past his lips was "Sarah." But the name that echoed in his mind...was _Alex_.


	16. Another Dead End

Eames got up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. After taking care of business in the bathroom, she headed down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. The door to the spare bedroom was open halfway, and she paused to listen to the sound emanating from it. Snoring. Well, it could be worse—he could be a loud, obnoxious snorer, but he wasn't. Since Bobby slept mostly on his side and stomach, he didn't snore. Well, she couldn't say never. When he'd had too much to drink, then he snored, but softly.

She could hear Ross now. "Eames, just how do you know your partner's sleep patterns and whether or not he snores? And how can you look at a man's torso, with no other identifying features, and know it's not Goren?"

How did she explain to an already naturally suspicious man that she'd had the occasion, many times over the last 6-1/2 years, to watch Goren sleep? She'd seen his bare chest enough times to know the scars it bore. Would he understand platonic familiarity on that level? She would be the first to agree that her partner was an intensely private man who went to great pains to keep people at a distance. But she also had to admit that she had crossed much of that distance to get closer to him than he let most people get.

She peeked into the bedroom and confirmed her theory. Logan was a back sleeper. Continuing on down the hall, she headed for the kitchen and got herself a glass of water, stepping onto her back deck to drink it. The spring night was cool and she shivered a little. And she let her mind wander.

Where could Goren possibly be? She still had trouble chasing away the thought that those meth heads had beat him and then dumped him in the river, in spite of their assertions that they had left him in the alley. After all, they were not exactly reliable witnesses. She was itching to arrest them, but Kent had told her it would be a waste of city time and resources. There was no proof beyond the stories of a bunch of drug addicts. Bring her proof and she'd be happy to prosecute. Proof? With no victim, there was no crime. Welcome to the real world.

She studied the sky, and it blurred in her vision as she fought not to give in to the despair that had been chasing her for the past couple of days as she and Logan traveled from dead end to dead end. Tomorrow, they were heading back to New Jersey, where the Jersey City police had arrested the man who had been carrying Goren's gun. The small ray of hope that that man would be able to give them a key to the whereabouts of her missing partner was extinguished by the wave of doubt that engulfed her. The more time that passed, the more remote became the possibility that they would find him alive. Ross had finally gone to the media, asking the public for help in locating his missing detective. She and Logan had followed up on every call and gotten nowhere. Their leads were quickly drying up, and they had nothing.

"Alex?"

She wiped her eyes quickly and turned to look at Logan. Hair mussed, eyes still sleepy, he stood in the doorway. "What are you doing up, Mike?"

"I got up for a drink of water. What are you doing outside?"

"Just thinking."

He stepped out into the cool night and approached her. "We're doing the best we can," he said softly. "Try not to worry so much."

"Tell me where he is, Mike, and I'll stop worrying."

"Sweetheart, I'd pay money to find him. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way."

"Mike...don't you think he would have called by now?"

"If he could, sure. But for some reason, he can't. He's stuck someplace, waiting for us to come and find him."

"You still think he's alive?"

"Don't you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore. I keep trying to be positive, but it's getting harder."

"You're smart, Alex. You face reality head on. I'm not that smart. Until I see the proof in the pudding, you're not going to convince me he's dead. Let's see what this Jersey mutt has to say and go from there."

"How much longer do you think Ross is going to let us investigate?"

"Until we've exhausted every alternative. Then we continue on our own time. I won't quit until I know for sure what happened to him."

She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. "Thank you, Mike."

He pressed his lips against the top of her head. "We'll find him, honey. Don't worry."

He let his eyes stray toward the sky and he hoped he could deliver on his promise. He hated breaking his word.

* * *

Eames and Logan sat beside each other, waiting for the prisoner to be brought out to see them. Logan knew as soon as he entered the room that it was not going to be an easy discussion. Eduardo Ramirez was about 20, with an arrogant swagger and a defiant expression on a face that was already scarred. He sat down and the guards left the room. Logan grinned at him. "Hey, Eduardo. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us."

Ramirez shrugged. "It gets me outta my cell."

"Tell us...what do you know about the gun they found on you?"

He shrugged. "I bought it in New York, off a coupla guys I know."

"They didn't tell you anything about it?"

"Like what? It was a nice piece and they offered it for a good price."

Eames said, "I'm sure they did. It was a cop's gun, Eddie. And that cop is now missing."

A look of surprise flickered over Ramirez' face, quickly suppressed. His attitude changed a little. "Hey, I didn't pop no cop. I got the gun off a buncha guys in the city, I swear."

Logan resumed questioning. "Well, when you used it, they immediately traced it back to the cop it belonged to. The cop who owns the gun has been missing since early Saturday morning, and the only thing we got tying him to anybody is that gun, and that brought us to you." He leaned back in his chair. "Now, if he never turns up, the NYPD will presume he's dead. And guess who's gonna go down for his murder. So if you know anything, this is your chance to sing. We're not coming back for seconds."

"I don't, man. I don't know nothin'. It's just like I said. I got the gun off a coupla guys in the city. They traded it for drugs. I don't know where they got it and I had no idea it was a cop's gun."

"What do you know about these upstanding citizens you got the gun from?"

"Nothing. I sell them stuff once or twice a month but we're not buddies. It's a business relationship. Usually they give me cash."

"Maybe you should have stuck with your cash policy, man. Enjoy death row."

The two detectives got to their feet and Logan banged on the door. It was unlocked and opened. "We're done with him. Thanks."

They left the room, and Ramirez' voice followed them down the hall. "I didn't kill no cop!"

As they headed back across the river, Eames and Logan were silent. They had hoped to find out something more from Ramirez and they each dwelled on their disappointment. They were quickly running out of options.


	17. An Unknown Hero

When Bobby woke, it was still dark, and he was alone. He folded his arms beneath his head and looked toward the ceiling. He felt relaxed and content...and he was in love. The thought made him smile. The only thing that confused him was the name that continued to echo through his mind: _Alex_. Try as he might, he could not place a person to the name that haunted him. Some of his memory shadows were slowly gaining more definition, however, nothing had enough clarity to be recognized. But the people around him...they were there, and they were real. They were family.

When he walked into the kitchen, Sarah was busy at the sink. He walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her middle, gently kissing her neck. She leaned back into him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he whispered against her skin.

She shivered at the caress of his breath and turned in his arms to kiss him. The kiss lingered until she stepped back and smiled. "Breakfast, Bobby," she whispered.

He smiled, gave her another quick kiss and turned toward the stove. By the time he had the stove stoked, Abbie was in the kitchen, ready to get her chores done and help milk the cow before it was time for her and Harry to walk to school. She placed her hand in Bobby's and gently pulled him toward the door. He stopped when they passed Sarah and touched her waist. "We'll get the eggs, too."

She smiled at him. "Thank you."

While Abbie gathered the eggs, he pumped the water and they brought them up to the house so Sarah could get breakfast cooked. Then Abbie ran out the door and down to the barn to let the horses and goats out. Bobby stole a quick kiss from Sarah and ran after the little girl. Harry entered the kitchen and muttered good morning. "Where's Bobby?"

"He's already in the barn with Abbie. She isn't cutting him any slack this morning."

Harry laughed. "She'll wear him out before sunrise if he lets her."

"I don't know. He seems to be able to keep up with her since he recovered from his injuries."

Harry nodded as he headed for the door. "Yeah, he does."

He left the house and headed for the barn to take care of the animals before he had to leave for the day for school.

* * *

The fall brought cooler weather and there was plenty to keep Bobby busy around the farm, getting ready for winter. He put no pressure on Sarah. If she wanted to spend the night with him, she was always welcome. If she didn't, that was fine. He moved at her pace and when she realized he was not going to pressure her in any way, she began joining him most nights. Sometimes, she just needed to feel his arms around her, and he was happy to oblige. Whatever her needs, he was ready to fill them, and in doing so, he found that he, also, remained satisfied and happy. What made him the happiest, however, was the disappearance of the sorrow that had weighed her down like a wool cape. Sarah was finally happy.

Early one November morning, Abbie, in the way of young children across time, asked an innocent question that caught him entirely off guard. While milking Maisie, she asked without preamble, "Bobby, are you going to marry Sarah?"

He stopped milking and looked at her. She didn't hesitate to step in and continue the milking as she waited for him to answer. "Why do you ask that, Abbie?"

"Because I'm too little to marry you, and you make Sarah happy. When the war is over, if we go back to Virginia, she won't be alone."

He nodded his head slowly. "Well, I have no plans to leave. I haven't given any thought to marriage, though."

"If you get your memory back, will you leave?"

"I don't know that my memory will ever come back. It's been seven months and I'm no closer to remembering than I was in April."

"So stay here. Sarah needs you."

He wished life were as simple as Abbie made it out to be. "We'll see what happens, baby."

She leaned back against his legs and shot a stream of milk at the waiting kittens, giggling as they scrambled for the white stream. He smoothed his hand over her long hair and smiled. "Come on, let's get done so Maisie can head out to pasture for the day."

"Sorry, kitties, that's it for today," she announced.

He let her finish the milking. Then she led the cow out of her stall and turned her loose in the corral that was open on the far end to let the animals out into the adjoining pasture. She watched the cow head out after the horses and the goats, then she grabbed Bobby's hand and they headed toward the house for breakfast.

* * *

Once the children had gone to school, Bobby helped Annie Mae and Sarah clean up the kitchen. Then they sat at the table before he headed out to the barn to work on the last bit of the roof he had to repair. Annie Mae asked, "Did the children tell you about the President's upcoming visit?"

Bobby nodded. "Abbie asked if I would take her and Harry to Pennsylvania to see him give his speech in Gettysburg."

"What did you tell her?"

"That it was up to you. You're their mother."

"You would be willing to take them? It's at least a week-long trip."

He shrugged. "I'm about done with the barn. I can spare the time."

She studied him across the table. "You would really take the time to go all the way to Gettysburg with Abbie and Harry, just to see the President deliver a speech?"

"If they wanted to go and you wanted me to go with them, yes."

She studied him carefully for a long moment. "Thank you, Bobby."

He shook his head. "Don't thank me. As much as you and Sarah have done for me, it's the least I can do." He got up from the table and gave her a smile. "I'd better get the barn done."

He headed out the door. As he stepped off the bottom step into the dirt yard, Sarah called to him. He turned and stepped back onto the steps, bringing himself level with her face. "Is something wrong?"

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I will say thank you," she said quietly. "You know that you don't have to do that."

"I know, but I don't mind."

She pressed her forehead against his. "I love you, Bobby," she whispered, giving him another kiss.

He pulled her close and deepened the kiss she started. When she stepped back, he touched her cheek. "I love you, too," he murmured.

Then he turned and headed for the barn, and Sarah went back into the house.

* * *

A visit by the President of the United States to a small farming community in any state was a big deal and the citizens of Gettysburg and the surrounding area had prepared a welcome for him to rival any in New York or Philadelphia, maybe not in size but definitely in enthusiasm.

Bobby wasn't certain why he was on edge, but some part of him, deep inside, kept a vigil of the crowd as the time for the President's address grew closer. Abbie stayed close to him, holding tight to his hand. She had never seen such a crowd. Several lesser dignitaries had their say about the summer's battle in the fields outside town. It had been a devastating battle, even if the North had won.

On the way across Pennsylvania, Abbie had asked about the battle, and Bobby told her what he knew, though he couldn't explain how he knew what he did. He presumed that he'd heard some of the men in town talking and had remembered their words without having consciously taken part in the conversation. It was the only explanation he had for half the things he knew.

When Harry asked him if he thought the South had a chance to win, he had honestly answered that he didn't. With greater resources and greater manpower, he felt that the North had a strong advantage that would eventually defeat Southern enthusiasm and spirit. After remaining quiet for several miles, digesting everything Bobby told him, Harry had finally concluded, "Well, I wish they would hurry up and lose so my father can come home."

As the time drew closer for the President to give his speech, Bobby's vigilance increased. Ultimately, his attention was drawn to a man not far away. Something about him set his nerves on edge. The man was unduly nervous, and that threw up several red flags in Bobby's mind. Something wasn't right.

Drawing Harry closer, Bobby said, "Harry, something is wrong. I'm going to check it out, but I want you to keep Abbie close, and if anything happens, get her safely home."

"What about you?"

"I'll find my way home; don't worry about me. Just take care of your sister. Don't worry about anything else. Promise?"

"All right. I'll take care of Abbie."

He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "When you get home...tell Sarah...tell her that I love her."

Bobby was bestowing on him a man's trust. He nodded. Take care of Abbie and deliver a very personal message. He had a bad feeling that Bobby was not expecting to see home again. He watched the big man drop to one knee in front of his little sister.

Bobby smiled at the little girl. "Listen to me, Abbie. I have to look into something. I hope I'm wrong and I'll be right back, but if anything happens, I want you to go with Harry and listen to him. Promise me you'll do that."

"What about you?"

"I don't know what's going to happen, but I will do what I can to come home. It's more important to me that you and your brother get home safely. Do you understand that?"

She nodded, confused about what he could possibly mean, but willing to trust him and do as he asked. He kissed her cheek. Standing, he gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze and then he moved off into the crowd, toward the man who had raised his suspicions.

The President's voice rang out over the crowd:

_Four score and seven years ago..._

The words somehow seemed familiar to Bobby, though he had no idea how or why. He looked toward the podium where the President stood, delivering words that would carry across time and never fade. Turning his attention back to the man, he watched him as he made his way closer.

_...and that government, of the people, by the people and for the people, shall not perish from the earth._

As the President's words died out, Bobby watched the man reach into his jacket, pulling out a pistol. With a quiet curse, Bobby ran toward him, knocking people out of his way. He dove in front of the man as the gun went off.

Bobby felt an enormous amount of pressure explode into his body just below his breastbone. He hit the ground hard, but still managed to get back to his feet and stumble off, out of the crowd. He made his way to a stand of bushes not far away, and he collapsed.

The gunman was apprehended by the men that surrounded him in the crowd, and in the resulting confusion, no one was certain exactly what had happened. Attention focused on the man with the pistol, who was swearing it discharged accidentally. No one had noticed the man who had saved the President's life that day, and history never recorded the assassination attempt. A weapon had accidentally been discharged in the crowd, but miraculously, no one had been harmed. The man, an actor named Booth, was released to make history another day.

A young boy had seen the man stumbled out of the crowd and fade into the bushes. Something about him was wrong. He'd looked hurt. So he went to the stand of bushes to see if he could help. There was no one there.


	18. Back Home Again

Friday afternoon. Goren had been missing for almost a week now, and Eames and Logan had gotten nowhere in their attempts to find him. Jimmy Deakins had talked with several people, including the captain in Narcotics, but nothing had come of his queries. Ross was reluctant to tell them to give it up, knowing how close Eames was to her partner, but he would soon have no choice.

Eames and Logan were getting ready to leave for the day when Ross came out of his office. "Before you call it a day, guys, go over to the intensive care unit at NYU Medical Center. They got a transfer in from Hershey Medical Center on Wednesday with an unusual gunshot injury, and he matches your partner's description, Eames. Just check it out. If nothing turns up over the weekend, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call it quits. We have other cases that need attention. Do you understand? I've given you all the time I can spare."

Wearily, Eames nodded. "Did they tell you what they meant by unusual?"

"No. That's something else you can find out. Let me know."

Eames and Logan didn't speak much on the way to the hospital. They had learned by now not to get their hopes up. It was beginning to look like Goren was not going to turn up. But Eames just could not let go of a sliver of hope. She could not let her partner go...not without giving him the benefit of all the fight she had in her.

They approached the nurses' station in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital and pulled out their badges. Eames spoke. "We were told you have a John Doe with an unusual gunshot injury that matches the description we released of a missing officer."

The nurse nodded. "Yes, we do."

Logan asked, "What's so unusual about his injury?"

"It's not so much the injury as the bullet that caused it. It wasn't a jacketed bullet. It's a lead slug, like they used in the 18th and 19th centuries. The doctors are intrigued."

"What's his condition?"

"Right now, he's in critical condition. We have him on a respirator, and he's fighting." She motioned for them to follow her.

The room was quiet except for the rasp of the respirator and the beeping of the monitor over the bed. Two bags hung on an IV pole above his head, one with a clear solution in it and one containing blood. The tubing snaked toward the bed and filtered into two separate IV lines in his arm. Eames just wanted to take a look, find out it wasn't her partner and go home. It had been an interminable week and she was tired.

She stepped up to the bed with Logan beside her and looked down at the face of the man in the bed. Everything around her faded away as she stared at him. She felt Logan grab her to support her, unaware that her legs had faltered on her. The man in the bed was Bobby.

Recovering, she turned to the nurse. "They told us he was flown in from Hershey?"

"Yes. He was found in the National Cemetery in Gettysburg, barely alive. They stabilized him and air evac'd him here, because we have a lot more experience with gunshot injuries. He spent eight hours in surgery and has been here for the last two days, holding his own. Do you know him?"

She nodded. "Yes. He's the officer we've been looking for, my partner. I...I have medical proxy for him."

The nurse seemed surprised. "His name?"

"Robert Goren."

"I have some questions for you, if you have time."

She nodded. The nurse left to get the forms she needed and Eames looked at Logan. "Pennsylvania... How do you think he got there?"

Logan shrugged. "Beats me. But we found him."

She leaned her head forward against Logan's chest, her relief short-lived as she recalled what the nurse had told them. _Critical condition..._she turned her head to study Goren's pale face, his sweat-dampened hair, the white bandage soaked with red encircling his mid-torso.

Logan released her when she pulled away and watched her close her hand around her partner's. "You want me to call Ross?"

"Do you mind?"

"In this case, no. If we had to report another dead end, then I'd let you do it." She looked at him and he grinned. "He'll be okay, Alex. He's tough, and now you're here. I don't know how he got halfway across Pennsylvania, or how he ended up with a lead slug in him. He's got some explaining to do, but we know where he is now." He squeezed her arm. "I'll be right back."

Eames turned her full attention back to Goren, and she leaned over to kiss his forehead. "I ought to kick your ass for scaring the hell out of me, you know that? But I'm just too glad to know where you are again. So get better, you hear me, Bobby? Get better."

She rested her head against his shoulder until the nurse came back in and sat down with her to fill out the paperwork she needed.

Logan left the ICU and went to the waiting room, where he was able to use his cell phone. He called the squad room and asked for Ross. "Hey, boss."

"Another dead end?" Ross asked wearily.

"Actually, no. It's Goren."

"So where has he been?"

"We're not sure. He's in critical condition, on a respirator, so we haven't had a chance to talk to him. They found him in Gettysburg, barely alive, and transferred him here after they stabilized him. Until he wakes up, we have no idea how he ended up there."

"What's so unusual about his injury?"

"It's not the injury so much as what caused it. They pulled a lead slug out of him, not jacketed, something you'd find 150 or more years ago. Not something around much today...unless he was shot with a muzzleloader. Not many drug dealers or gangsters use those."

"Where's Eames?"

"Guess."

"Make sure she gets some rest, Logan. And keep me posted."

"Will do, boss."

It took a lot of persuading for Logan to convince Eames she should leave to get some rest. It wasn't until he offered to let her stay at his place, which was a lot closer than her home, that she finally relented, making him promise to return with her first thing in the morning. After that, she parked herself in the chair next to his bed, as he had done after her kidnapping. She remained throughout the weekend, leaving for brief periods when Logan came by and convinced her to join him for a quick bite in the hospital cafeteria. Other than that she remained a fixture at her partner's bedside.

* * *

Monday morning, Logan showed up with coffee and convinced her to let him take her in to the squad room, insisting any vacation time would be better used once Goren was released and allowed to finish his recovery at home. They returned at lunchtime, and he dropped her off at the end of the day. She managed to get more sleep in the chair by his bed than she would have gotten at home. 

The doctors told her he was slowly improving. The tumble of the bullet had done a lot of damage and he had lost a lot of blood, but the damage had been repaired and he'd had several transfusions to replace lost red blood cells as well as plenty of saline to replenish his blood volume. Every day they were able to turn down the respirator settings as he started to breathe more and more on his own. After a week, they were able to remove the respirator entirely. He was breathing fully on his own.

* * *

A cough brought forth a searing pain in the center of his body, drawing a groan from deep inside him. As the pain faded, he slowly opened his eyes, gradually becoming more aware of a steady pressure on his hand. His eyelids fluttered open and he squinted against the light, dim though it was. Slowly, his eyes focused on the figure beside his bed. "Eames," he whispered hoarsely. 

Tears of joy flooded down her cheeks. "Bobby," she whispered. "Welcome back."

"Back? Where did I go?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that."

He searched his memory but could find nothing more recent than the night he and Logan had gone out drinking and he'd run into trouble on his way home. "I, uh, I ran into a little trouble with a gang of addicts in my neighborhood."

"And? You were missing for almost a week. Bobby, they found you in Pennsylvania."

"Penn-...?" That made no sense. How did he end up in Pennsylvania? He raised a hand to his head, which was throbbing, and he shook his head, which just made everything so much worse. He groaned softly. "I have no idea, Eames."

She caressed his cheek and he relaxed. "Give yourself a little time," she said softly as his eyes began to close again. She continued to hold his hand and gently stroke his cheek, and he struggled to keep his eyes on her, but the urge to sleep quickly overpowered him.

That evening he woke again, roused by quiet, familiar voices near his bed. He tightened his grip on the hand that rested in his and looked at the two people at his bedside. "Logan?"

Logan grinned at him. "Hey, man. You gave us one hell of a scare there, do you know that?"

"Sorry."

"Any idea how you ended up in Pennsylvania?"

"N-no." His eyes shifted toward Eames. "I have no idea."

"Alex and I went nuts looking for you."

"Th-thank you...for sticking with her."

"Not a problem. She kept my ass out of trouble."

A soft smile touched Goren's still-pale face. "That's...not an easy thing...to do."

"Tell me about it. Now I know how she keeps you in line. I don't ever want to call her on one of her threats."

"No...I wouldn't recommend it."

Eames ran a finger along the upper edge of his bandage and he softly groaned. "Still hurt?"

"Y-yes."

"There's a lot of bruising. You have no idea how you got shot?"

He shook his head, regretting it as much as he had earlier. "Un-unless the addicts...I...I have no idea..."

Logan said, "Next time, crash on my couch, will ya?"

"I, uh, I think that's a good...idea."

"I have 'em once in awhile."

Eames ran her fingertips lightly down the side of his face. "How are you feeling?"

"T-tired. Very tired."

"Then rest. The more you rest, the faster you'll recover."

He didn't have much strength to struggle with yet, and it took little coaxing to get him back to sleep. Logan studied him for a moment. "Any idea how long he's gonna have to stay here?"

"Maybe two weeks. Now that he's regained consciousness, they anticipate his strength will return quickly. He's recovering."

"Good. I hate hospitals."

She nodded. "So do I. But he's home. That's what matters most."

* * *

Goren remained in intensive care for several more days before being transferred to a post-surgical ward, where he stayed for ten days before the doctors were comfortable enough to discharge him. In spite of his protests, Eames remained by his side at night, sleeping in a sleeper chair beside his bed. Logan picked her up weekday mornings and brought her back in the afternoons, staying for a while before he went home in the early evening, making certain Eames had dinner. He pointed an accusing finger at Goren. "I don't eat hospital food for just anyone, you know." 

"Give me a break, Mike. If you're hungry enough, you'll eat out of a dumpster."

"I only did that once, and I was undercover."

"Excuses, excuses."

He looked at Eames. "Are you sure you want him getting better?"

She was smiling. "He doesn't bother me, Logan."

He pointed the same finger at her. "Don't you go ganging up on me now."

She shook her head. "You boys can hold your own. I'm staying out of it."

Goren smiled fondly at her. "Smart woman."

She returned his smile. "I pick up some things from you here and there."

He nodded. "And I learn from you."

"Do I get included in these lessons?" Logan asked, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

Eames reached out and smacked the back of his head, and Goren grinned. "Duck faster."

"That's not quite what I meant," Logan complained.

Goren looked at his partner, catching her eye, and he smiled. She returned the smile. Her partner was home.

* * *

A few days before he was discharged, it wasn't Logan who came with Eames to see him at lunchtime. It was Ross. As always, his face lit up when Eames came into the room, but when Ross followed her, his brow furrowed. "Captain." 

"Hello, detective. I came by to see how you are doing."

"Thank you. I'm much better."

"You'll be back to work soon, I presume."

"As soon as the departmental surgeon gives me the okay. They're estimating another week or two before I can resume limited duties. I should be back to full duty within the month."

"Good. We've missed you. The squad room becomes a rather boring place without you there. Logan spices things up, but without the two of you...it gets dull."

"Thanks. I think."

Ross smiled for a moment before he became serious. "Detective, do you have any recollection of what happened to you after you were attacked?"

"No, Captain. None at all."

"You realize that will limit our ability to prosecute the men who attacked you."

"I know, but I can only tell you what I remember, and that isn't much."

"Do you think you could at least identify the men from the alley?"

"Yes. And I remember what they did, up until I lost consciousness. The next thing I remember after that is waking up here."

Ross nodded. "Do your best to remember, and get well quickly. But don't push it. I don't want you back before you're ready."

"Yes, sir."

Ross sensed that Eames wanted time alone with her partner and he said, "I'm going down to the cafeteria. I'll meet you there, Eames."

"I'll be there in a little while, Captain."

Ross left the room and Eames turned to her partner. "He wanted to see for himself how you were doing, and it was either bring him up now, before they let you out of here, or bring him by your apartment afterwards."

He nodded. "It's all right, Eames."

"The doctor told me you'll be released soon."

"Wednesday, he said."

She nodded. "Good. I'm going to take some time off to make sure you behave yourself."

"That's not necessary."

"Sorry, partner. It's already been arranged. You're stuck with me for a week or so. Think it'll put too much of a strain on you to behave for that long?"

She smiled at the spark in his eye when he answered, "I don't know, Eames..."

She poked his shoulder. "I'd better go. His lunch hours never last an hour." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you tonight."

"Be careful," he said softly.

"I know. You aren't there to protect me. Don't worry. Not much happens in the squad room except Logan, and I can handle him."

He watched her leave, then settled back into the bed and picked up the book she'd brought for him the day before.

* * *

He didn't pay much attention to the route they were traveling until he realized they were not going to his apartment. "Uh, Eames? Where are we going?" 

"I'm taking you to my house."

"Wh-why?"

She was ready for his objection. "Because my house is bigger than your apartment and I have a spare bedroom so neither of us has to sleep on the couch."

After giving it some thought, he nodded. "All right," he consented. "As long as it's not a problem."

"It's not, Bobby. You going missing for a week was a problem. You staying at my house for a week is not."

He was quiet for a long moment. "I...I wish I remembered."

"I know you do. Your buddies from the alley are still insisting they left you there and you were gone when they got back. And they say they didn't shoot you."

He shrugged. "I don't remember getting shot."

"The doctors estimated that you took the bullet within twelve hours of them getting you. If it had been any longer, you wouldn't have made it."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He'd been trying to remember, but he couldn't. And when he got frustrated or tried too hard, his head would begin to throb, as it was doing now. Eames gave him a concerned look. "Does your head hurt?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She pulled a bottle of medicine from her pocket and handed it to him. Then she handed him a bottle of water from the cup holder on her side of the console between them. His fingers brushed hers when he took the bottle. "Thank you."

* * *

She knew for certain that he was still not anywhere near recovered when they got to her house; he went into the spare bedroom and went to sleep. She wasn't used to this but she understood he was recovering from a serious injury. So she let him sleep, checking on him periodically to be certain he was resting peacefully. 

She was preparing dinner when he woke and she looked up when he appeared in the kitchen doorway. She gave him a smile. "Feel better?"

"Not really. I'm still tired."

"You can go back to bed after we eat."

"I...I would rather spend some time with you, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't."

After dinner, they sat on the couch. "Do you want to talk?" she asked.

"No. Go ahead and put on a movie or whatever. I just...want to sit here with you."

She had no problem with that and she put in a movie. Not long after the movie started, he slid closer to her, seeking contact, which she allowed. After another brief interlude, she gently coaxed him into a reclining position, settling his head in her lap and, in short order, he was asleep.

After the movie, she woke him and guided him into the bedroom, where he returned to sleep as soon as she had him settled in the bed. She wasn't certain he had even fully woken. Standing by the door, she watched the even rise and fall of his chest and, reassured, switched off the light and went to her own room.

* * *

As the week progressed, Eames was pleased to see more of his energy and stamina returning. One afternoon, she sat beside him on the couch and set a photo album in his lap. "What's this?" he asked. 

"I know how much you like looking at my family pictures and I know how much you like history. There are old pictures, from 1860 through 1900, of my family. I thought you might like to look at them."

She snuggled into his side as he opened the album and began to look through the old pictures. He stopped when he came to a picture of a teen-aged girl standing behind a chair where a little boy of about four or five was sitting. He stared at the picture. She looked at him. "What is it?"

"Who...who is that?"

"That's my grandmother's great-grandmother, Abigail Cahill and her cousin Robert. My dad loves all this old family history stuff and he has a bunch of old letters in the attic that tell a lot of the story. It's a sad one. Robert never knew his father. He died in the war before Robert was born, and his mother never got over losing him. We really don't know much about him, except that the baby was named for him. After he died, the baby gave his mother's life purpose; he was everything to her. He became an NYPD officer and was killed in the line of duty when he was 26. No wife, no children, and losing him devastated his mother. She died six months later." She smiled sadly. "Dad told me that little Robert's father died protecting President Lincoln after he delivered the Gettysburg Address. I never found any evidence to prove it, so I guess it's just one of those family tall tales."

Goren continued to stare at the photograph. His own childhood photos could have been substituted for the little boy's. The resemblance was uncanny. He continued looking through the album, but his mind was reeling and he had no idea why.

That night, when he drifted off to sleep, voices came to him from someplace he couldn't identify. _I'm too little to marry you...Thank you for protecting my children...Why did you do that?...I love you, Bobby..._

He woke up in a cold sweat, uncertain. The door cracked open. "Bobby?"

"Eam...Alex," he answered, still winded and shaking from...he wasn't sure from what.

She came into the room. "Nightmare?"

"I...I'm not sure. Uh, I didn't wake you...?"

"No. It's only nine o'clock."

He nodded. "Oh. Good. I...You've already done enough for me."

She sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out a tentative hand. When it came into contact with his damp hair, he didn't object or pull away. He continued looking at her, as though he was truly seeing her for the first time. He gently sifted his fingers through her shoulder length hair, burying his hand in the golden locks a second before he leaned in to kiss her. She slid her arms around him and yielded to him as he lowered her to the bed. She never made it to her room that night.


	19. Epilogue

Harry had watched Bobby make his way toward the nervous man closer to the front of the crowd. He heard the gun go off, and he knew that Bobby had been hit. He also knew with certainty that he had saved the President's life.

With as much certainty, Harry knew that the bullet, instead of taking the President's life, would take Bobby's. But he would deal with his grief later. Right now, he had to get his sister home, and tell his mother and Sarah what had happened. His heart went out to his cousin. This would break her heart, again. He resolved to talk with his mother about the family remaining with Sarah, even after Dad came back from the war. If not, then he resolved to stay with her. It was the least he could do, and it was something he knew that Bobby would want him to do, if he was able.

Harry and Abbie returned home safely, and Bobby never showed up, reinforcing Harry's assertion that the assassin's bullet had taken him from them. Sarah, he was afraid, would never recover from this loss...until she found out, just after the New Year, that she was pregnant. In the spring, she gave birth to a healthy little boy she named Robert. In the newborn infant she found joy in life again. Bobby had not totally been taken from her. She had part of him in her baby son, and she cherished him.

_June 1865. _

Abbie was ten years old. She was in the butterfly field, but she no longer chased the butterflies. Now she watched them, and she remembered the time, two years ago, that she had found a man laying in the grass, a man who had changed their lives forever without ever intending to.

Little Bobby was a year old, and he was the image of his late father. He brought joy to all their lives, but especially to Sarah. She put all her love into raising the little boy, but not a day passed that she did not miss his father. Abbie understood that. She missed Bobby, too. She thought of him every day when she milked Maisie, when she played with every new litter of kittens, when she watched her brother working in the fields alone. Harry had become very withdrawn after Bobby died, and that hurt her. He didn't have much to say to any of them, except for her. She was the only one he ever told how much he missed him. She smiled to watch Harry play with the baby, but it hurt her heart as well. Bobby should be here to play with his son. Bobby should not have died.

She continued to walk alone through the field, reflecting on how much fun it would be next year, when the baby could come with her. She thought about the war, which had ended in April, just before President Lincoln had been killed by an assassin's bullet. That had made her sad and angry. Bobby had died to protect the President's life, only to have it taken a year and a half later. But at least Mr. Lincoln had brought about the end of the war.

She looked across the field, and she did a double take. There was a man standing at the far edge of the meadow, leaning heavily on a crutch. There was something vaguely familiar about him, and she thought about that as she watched him hobble forward, drawing closer. As he got closer, memories became clearer until finally they clicked. "Daddy!"

She ran forward as fast as she could, into his waiting arms. And she cried and cried. She thought she would never see him again, but here he was. Her father was home.

_fin_

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this story, and a special thanks, as always, to those of you who took the time and effort to review. You are very much appreciated!**


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